Financial Diaries of a Devil Hunter
by The Joe and Gromit Show
Summary: Joe: When devil hunting stops paying the bills, Dante must resort to drastic measures to keep the money in. A series of get rich quick schemes devised by Dante. Please R&R.
1. The Bank

_Disclaimer: Anything that's copyrighted in this story is not owned by me._

_Joe: I'm back! Those of you who were lured in by the summary will be getting what was promised. This is going to be a series of get rich-quick schemes devised by Dante. Yes, I know that it's a huge change from "Yet Another DMC Parody," but I think that it'll work. Those of you who are wondering what the hell the "Joe" up there was for should read my profile. Click on my pen name and all will be explained._

_I'm rating this K+ because of small amounts of violence. Think I'm under rating it? Any kid too young for a small amount of violence shouldn't have played a Devil May Cry game in the first place. And, Fan fiction doesn't allow people under 13 to join anyway._

_Enough blabbering, let's get on with it._

* * *

_**Ch. 1: The Bank**_

Dante Sparda was truly and utterly frustrated. His bills weren't working out the way they should be, due to the lack of demons. Less and less of them were being sighted, maybe they realised that if they kept quiet, they won't be decimated by Dante. Dante cursed them, they weren't created to realise anything, they were only there, in Dante's opinion, to make him money. They always seemed to do the opposite of what he wanted them to do.

At the moment, Dante is pacing up and down the front room to the _Devil May Cry_, muttering profanities. The Devil May Cry wasn't doing well either. There were holes in the roof, unskilfully repaired with wooden boards. Where they were too bad, a pot or pan was placed underneath it.

His sidekick, Trish, was working by the typewriter, a serious look plastered to her face.

"This doesn't look good, Dante" she said grimly.

Dante's face hardened.

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do, woman!" he barked.

Trish sniffled and went back to her work. Dante was getting more and more irritated and Trish's constant stating the obvious wasn't helping. This was the umpteenth time that he had yelled at her today, he really wasn't bothering to hold back any anger.

An idea sprung to his mind. He had heard of people managing to get out of messes like this with brilliantly planned get rich-quick schemes. He was cunning enough for that, wasn't he? Of course he was. He was going to be sitting on a pile of money before the month was over, he was sure of it.

But, first, he had to get started off with a little help.

"I'm off to the bank, if I'm not back in two hours start a search," he stated casually as he kicked open the door and walked out with a grin on his face.

Trish pretended that she couldn't hear him.

* * *

At the bank-

Dante swung open the mahogany doors and stepped inside. Something was wrong, though. Everything was quiet. Not that he expected the bank to be a huge, exciting hive of fun, but it was still too quiet.

He walked through the entrance hallway and peered inside the main building, to find his worst fears confirmed.

There, standing at the counter, was a man pointing a gun at the lady behind it. Standing just a few feet away from him was another man with a gun, most likely taking a lookout.

A vein became visible on Dante's head. Not now, not on _his_ time. He didn't give a damn if they robbed the bank at any other time, but not now. They _had _to go.

He stormed over to the first man, with a huge temper, visible to anyone that saw him.

The lookout noticed him.

"GET ON THE GROUND, NOW!" he roared.

Dante took no heed to this sudden outburst and continued walking towards him. A bead of sweat broke from the man's forehead. Being half-demon, Dante could smell fear. This man was amateur.

"I SAID GET ON THE GROUND!" the man said again.

Dante sighed heavily and kept on going. He was three paces away from the man when the man snapped.

He fired three rounds of bullets from his pistol.

There was a silence in the room, everyone, including the man at the counter, was staring at Dante, waiting for him to drop.

Dante sighed a second time and reached for his holsters. Nothing there but empty space. Dante's eyes widened: in his haste he forgot to bring Ebony and Ivory. Damn it. He would have to go hand to hand.

Dante took another step forwards and everyone gasped. The man yelled and emptied his gun on Dante, falling down in the process.

Another vein popped on Dante's head. The bullets were more annoyance than threat, but it was the thought that counts. He picked the man up by the scruff of the neck and pressed him against the wall.

"Listen, dope, I'm not sure that your tiny little brainstem managed to comprehend this, but I'm in a bad mood and it'd be a good idea the stay outta my way!" he growled.

He let go, sending the man onto the ground. With a shriek, the man crawled away, and when at a safe distance, ran as fast as he could. Dante turned towards the other man. The man followed suit, shrieking and running off, throwing the bag of money into the air behind him.

The whole room was silent again as Dante walked up to the counter. The lady behind it shrunk up against the wall. Dante looked mildly embarrassed.

"Erm… I'd like to apply for a loan…please?" he said slowly, as if unsure of what he was saying.

With a shriek, the lady ran for her life. Though, in her haste, she ran right into the nearest wall, knocking her out.

……

……

……

"Oookay?" Dante commented.

He shrugged his shoulders and tried the man to the next counter. When Dante asked him if he could apply for a loan, he didn't run off screaming, luckily enough.

"A l-loan? R-right t-t-this way, s-sir!" he stuttered, indicating the door to his right.

Dante walked casually through. As soon as he left the room, everyone inside sighed with relief.

* * *

Dante spent the next half hour in a waiting room, sitting on the most uncomfortable couch he had ever sat on, waiting for his turn to walk through a second door. On the other side of it, a mother was sitting pressed up to the very edge of the chair, holding her child in paranoia. Every now and then she would chance a nervous glance at Dante, then clutch her child tighter. The edge of the couch looked as if it were under strain from the pressure being forced upon it. The other occupant of the room was called by intercom into the next room. The woman's eyes bulged; she obviously wasn't keen on being left alone in the same room as Dante.

When the half hour ended, and the terrified woman had left, Dante walked through and found himself in an office. On the table was a name holder. It read: _David Harrington_. At the moment, David Harrington was showing the mother out.

When she had left, Harrington turned towards Dante.

"Mr. Sparda, I take it?" he stated, holding out his hand to Dante.

Dante looked at the hand for a while, choosing not to shake it. He only shook hands with people he trusted.

Harrington wrinkled his nose. He was a man of high standing and did not take to bad manners. Though he acted like an old man, Dante judged him to be somewhere in his thirties. He had greying brown hair and blue eyes, with a hint of wrinkles around his eyes.

Harrington clasped his hands together.

"Shall we get to business then?" he queried.

Dante grunted in response and plonked himself down on the small chair. Harrington sat down on his and turned towards his computer. Dante waited while the sound of hurried typing filled the room. After a few minutes Harrington spoke.

"It looks like your in a spot of trouble here, Mr. Sparda" he stated.

Dante narrowed his eyes.

"I know that. I didn't come all the way over here for some stuck up oldie to tell me what I'm doing wrong" he rudely pointed out.

Harrington blinked. He had the patience of a saint.

"Quite, Mr. Sparda. If so, then what is the purpose of your visit?"

"To get a loan"

Harrington looked surprised.

"A loan? I'm afraid I can't do that. According to this, you don't have the assets to pay back a loan"

Dante's narrowed eyes changed to eyes of a worried man.

"Then, what'll I do? My house is falling apart around me, and business isn't doing well either!"

"Yes, that brings up a question. You failed to mention what exactly it is that you do" Harrington asked.

"I hunt demons" Dante answered simply.

Harrington raised an eyebrow.

"I think I see your problem, Mr. Sparda" he said "all you need to do is get a new job, not that I'm _sure_ demon hunting is… such an exciting job. Good day, Mr. Sparda."

Dante was hurriedly shown out of the room. Dante stood outside the door for a while.

"Damn…I'm not quitting my job…I'll get rich, he'll see…"

And with that he walked out.

* * *

Outside, the police were trying to get answers out of the people who were involved with the robbers. Not that anything was stolen, but these robbers had robbed one too many banks and were infamous around the area. The only answers that they could get out of the shocked people was that "a man in red with silver hair had stopped the robbery", which was preposterous. The police chief grunted, grabbing the attention of a nearby cop.

"Looks like they got away again."

The cop nodded.

"Not unless these people are telling the truth, that man supposedly spooked 'em good."

The chief snorted.

"I seriously doubt that, these people look unhinged, maybe we should…"

He never finished that sentence, because at that moment, Dante walked through the bank door, ignoring the police "DO NOT CROSS" tape. The chief coughed loudly and waddled up to Dante.

"Are you the man that stopped the robbery?" he enquired.

Dante looked troubled.

"You mean, those amateurs inside are actually considered robbers?"

The police chief coughed a second time, this time louder.

"_Amateurs_? Those men are responsible for multiple robberies and several deaths!" he rasped,

Dante shrugged his shoulders and strolled on. The chief struggled to keep up, but managed to halt Dante.

"The police force are in debt to you, sir!" the chief said "is there anything you need, we'll do it!"

A smile broke across Dante's face.

"I'm a little low on cash" he stated casually.

The police chief looked a little embarrassed.

"You've got us at a bad time, the police force are down on funds at the moment…" he trailed off.

With a heavy sigh, Dante stormed off, just as rain started to fall.

* * *

When Dante reached home, his mood hadn't changed. Even worse was the fact that he was ringing wet.

"Are we rich yet?" Trish announced as he walked in the door.

Dante glared at her.

"Shut up, woman!" he barked angrily, slamming the door behind him.

There was a loud bang as the door shattered.

"There, happy now?" Trish barked back.

Dante cursed under his breath and sat down on his chair.

He was seriously annoyed. Harrington hadn't helped anything. And, before he had shown Dante out, gave Dante his card and told him that he should call if nothing improves. Just what he needed! A stiff man to tell him that his job isn't good enough! Dante would show him…

Dante suddenly stood up, knocking over his desk. He ignored the sound of the wood smashing against the ground. He had an idea…an idea that would land him on a large pile of money. He would devise a plan to end all plans, and by the end of it, the money will be rolling in.

"I Dante, son of Sparda-" (lightning flashes outside) "will not rest until I have devised a cunning plan, one which will make us rich!"

Trish was too dug into a book to pay him any attention.

With a laugh, Dante bounded up the stairs to start his plan.

* * *

_This chapter was really just an ice breaker. Nothing especially exciting happened. But, the get rich quick schemes will start from next chapter on. I'm not going to be picky. One review is all I care for at the moment, then I'll get started. The one review is to show that someone has read it. From then on, review if you wish. I'm doing this for the craic, not anything else. (If you don't know, craic (pronounced "crack") means fun, or sport). I'll be updating soon._


	2. The Yard Sale

_Disclaimer: Anything that's copyrighted in this story is not owned by me._

_Joe: Wow, two chapters in one day! That's my record._

_Right, here's where the fun begins, you probably didn't like the last chapter, but this one will be better, I promise. _

_Just so you know, I'm changing this to "T" rated, it's so hard writing a Devil May Cry story without violence! _

* * *

_**Ch.2: The Yard Sale**_

"Are you sure about this, Dante?" Trish asked, genuinely worried.

They were standing on the concrete in front of the _Devil May Cry_. There was a large unused carpet on the ground. On the carpet were several tables with boxes in them, which were filled with junk from inside.

"Of course it will!" the devil hunter replied as he hammered a sign into the ground with his fist. It read: _Yard Sale_.

He was in a good mood today. Not only had he come up with a plan that was bound to pay up, but he was just about finished preparing it. All in good time.

He noticed that Trish's face was still worried.

"Don't worry, I've seen people do this on T.V, they all end up loaded!" he said patronisingly, attempting to cheer her up.

Trish faked a smile, which convinced Dante. When he turned away, she mouthed curses at him and pointed her middle finger at him.

"Now all we do," Dante stated as he rubbed his hands "is wait!"

The waiting lasted around forty minutes. Dante was almost drooling on the seat he had sat on. Trish was sprawled on the ground, her head nodding.

There was a group of people there looking interestedly at the items on sale. Dante jerked to his senses and noticed the people. He grinned and nudged Trish, making her jump.

"We have visitors!" Dante announced.

She nodded and got up.

They greeted the visitors and showed them the items of sale. Some of the people were greatly interested with the great big weapons around the place.

Soon they attracted attention and more people arrived. Dante nudged Trish again, pointing at them. She rolled her eyes and faked another smile.

Soon, a family came along with interested looks on their faces. _And pocketfuls of cash._ Thought Dante.

If only he knew the damage they would cause him.

There was the mother and father, obviously, then there was a little girl around 9 years old, a superior look to her face. There was a small boy around 3 that was clinging on to his mothers hand, his other hand in his mouth.

Dante greeted them and told them to look around to see if they found anything they liked.

Soon the mother found the weapons, the child staring at them interestedly.

"My lord!" she said "are these dangerous?"

Dante's smile faltered. If he told her the truth, all these people might be scared off. However, if he lied about these, he could make more money than expected…

Choosing the latter, he lied.

"No, ma'am," he said, reassuring her "these are fake weapons, the kind actors use in films."

"Oh," she said "well, then, Kenny, you may pick out one that you like!"

Dante's smile faded another bit. What would happen when the police found out that he was selling weapons to a small child? He couldn't lie either, just after he told her that they weren't real…

But Dante couldn't help a grin when he saw the child's weapon of choice. The kid was barely managing to drag them with him. The mother couldn't help an anxious glance when she saw the kid dragging twin blades with heads behind him.

"What's going on, brother?" Agni asked loudly.

The mother jumped.

"Are those alive?" she asked concernedly.

"I don't know, brother, I think that we are getting a new master!" Rudra answered.

Dante's smile was genuine when he answered.

"Of course not, those are from Japan…yeah…they're….they're new toys from Japan! Over 5,000,000,000 phrases!" he said, striking a deal.

"5,000,000,000? Will it be expensive?" she asked.

"I don't think I like these, brother, would you say that they are as mighty as our old master?" Agni piped up.

Dante grinned.

"Well…I'll give them to you for…say…$200?"

The mother looked at the swords, then at her child, a troubled look on her face. Eventually, she answered.

"I'll take them!" She said, putting a fistful of dollars into Dante's hands. Then she walked off with her child, Agni and Rudra's ceaseless chatter echoing in the distance.

_I wonder how Trish's doing?_ he thought as he flicked his money around. A sudden noise answered his question.

"MIiIiIiIiIiiiIiIIiIIIIIIIINE!" came the little girls cry.

Dante rushed over to see Trish and the little girl having a tug-o-war over what looked like Trish's box of shoes. Dante made a low whistle. The child had been stupid enough to grab Trish's precious shoe box. If she didn't let go now, she would be in for it. Trish would reveal her powers, then Dante and her would have to relocate into a different country.

Dante rushed over and separated the two, both of them protesting. The child was gnawing at his arm and Trish was trying to claw at him wildly. Dante had to work hard to keep a straight face.

"Easy, there!" he said, a hint of humour in his voice.

Trish's eyes flashed red at him, but he flashed his back. Trish then took to sulking. Dante turned towards the kid. She looked close to tears. Unfortunately enough, the father came rushing, looking worried. A bead of sweat broke from Dante's forehead, and he knew that there was a battle going on in his armpits between the deodorant and the sweat.

Dante hurriedly put the box of shoes into the kids hands and ruffled her hair.

"Little tyke!" he said through a strained smile.

The father looked inside the box and asked for the price. Trish looked up.

"It's not for sa-"

Dante slapped his hand over her mouth.

"$500.50, there's a lot of shoes in there, you know!" Dante interrupted.

The man looked perturbed by Dante's interruption, but shrugged his shoulders.

"Fair enough, do you accept cheques?" he sighed, taking out his wallet.

Trish could swear that Dante's pupils turned to dollar signs.

"Of course we do!" Dante said, snatching the paper from out of the man's hand greedily.

"Come on, Jessica, we're going," the man said, stretching his arm out.

The little girl grabbed his hand and strutted off with her father. Trish showed the little girl the finger. Dante slapped her hand.

"What the hell did you think you were at?" he snapped "are you trying to scare away sucke-customers?"

Trish shuffled her feet, not knowing what to say. After a while she thought of something and answered.

"That's not the point, how could you put my _shoes_ out here? MY _SHOES!_"

Silence.

Dante slapped her.

"Woman…" he muttered "what is their obsession with shoes…" he walked off.

Trish looked highly offended. _Obsession with shoes?_

"Beer," Trish stated.

Dante stopped in his tracks.

"Where?" he said "Where? Where'sthebeer?"

Trish didn't say anything, as if she had just proven a point.

Soon everyone had left, everything worth buying sold.

Dante and Trish walked wearily through the empty space where the door once was and plonked themselves on the chair nearest to them. Dante emptied his pockets and counted. A smile broke across his face.

"$1,500" he said hoarsely.

Trish reached inside her bra and took out more.

"$1,500" she repeated.

Dante's eyes lit up.

"$3,000? Sweet! Told you this was a good idea!"

They sat there for a while, thinking of what they could do with the money. Soon, they got bored.

"Pass the remote," Trish asked.

Dante looked embarrassed.

"I…er…sold it" he flinched, waiting for the strike.

Trish slapped him across the back of his head, the place where he wasn't blocking.

"Oh, well," she said "we can do something else, I'm gonna make myself a sandwich."

Dante shuffled uncomfortably in his seat as Trish went up the stairs to the place where they lived. Downstairs was just the office.

"DANTE!" came an angry voice from upstairs "WHERE'S THE FRIDGE!"

The sounds of feet banging on the stairs could be heard until Trish got down and glared at Dante, her arms crossed and her feet tapping.

"I sold it…" Dante muttered.

"What was that?" Trish snapped, her eyes bulging.

"I sold it" Dante repeated, only louder.

Trish made a strangling motion in mid-air, as if imagining her hands to be around Dante's neck. Eventually, she took several deep breaths and calmed down.

"It's O.K, I think I'll go to bed," she rasped.

As she walked up the stairs, Dante grabbed his coat, some money and dashed off as fast as he could, feet beating against the concrete side walk.

He could've swore that he felt the ground shake as "DANTEEEEE!" echoed through the street.

* * *

_The next morning, approx 04:32-_

Dante stumbled home, drunken and disoriented. Everything was vague, the moon looked like a giant piece of cheese melting and dripping in all directions.

He reached the Devil May Cry. Though, to him it looked like a giant monster.

He put himself into a fighting stance, then motioned for the monster to come towards him, trying to taunt it.

There was no response.

Dante roared (waking up the entire street) and charged at it, slicing at it with Rebellion, chopping up bits of the brick and breaking a window. Trish was standing in the doorway in a dressing gown, her arms crossed and feet tapping; the "you're in trouble look" (all you lad's should recognise it). She had slept in Dante's bed and was still adjusting to the smell.

Dante turned towards the doorway, noticing Trish there.

"swah siss?" he blurted.

To him it looked like the monster had eaten Trish. Roaring (complaints came from nearby buildings) he charged at the door, right into Trish, knocking both of them onto the couch, one of the few things left in the house.

Trish blinked. Dante was on top of her on the vouch, apparently snoring.

"GET OFF ME!" she squealed, failing to push him off.

Dante didn't budge.

Trish groaned. God knows how long she would be stuck there. She looked around the room, looking for something that would help her out. Nothing. Damn it…

Soon, after what seemed like ages, flashing lights shine through the empty doorway. Trish gulped; the lights appeared to be red and blue. Dante grunted and rubbed his eyes. Two cops busted into the room, one of them was about to say something when the both of them almost tripped over themselves, they both shut their eyes tight and took out their guns. Trish knew why they had acted so surprised. They had burst into a room with two people on top of each other. Small wonder.

"GET UP!" barked one of the cops "and…FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP IT!"

Dante hurriedly got off Trish, looking embarrassed. And uncomfortable, due to a hangover from hell.

The other cop didn't look too disgusted. Dante had a shrewd suspicion that he was fighting off a smile. One of the two took out a small slip of paper and read it,

"Mr. Sparda, you are charged with supplying weapons to citizens without permit!" he said "you are also acknowledged to have sold weapons to a minor"

The other was about to put handcuffs on Dante when he paused.

"Wait a bleedin' second…isn't this the guy that saved the bank yesterday?" he asked.

The other scratched his head.

"I think it is…alright, deal, you don't go to court, but you pay the fine."

Dante's eyes widened.

"I CHOOSE COURT, I CHOOSE COURT!" he screamed, flailing wildly.

Trish sighed and took the money out of it's hiding place.

"DON'T DO IT, TRISH!" Dante screamed.

Trish handed the money to one of the cops. Dante writhed in agony.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO, HOW COULD YOU, TRISH! HOW COULD YOU!"

Trish ignored him and waved as the cops sped off.

Dante got off the ground, looking extremely indignant.

"I have nothing to say to you," he said calmly, turning his back on her.

There was a silence.

"Nice plan, Dante!" Trish remarked.

Dante turned to face her, a look of anger mixed with surprise stamped on his face.

"Oh, this is all _my_ fault, is it?" he bellowed.

"YES!" Trish retorted "IT WAS YOUR PLAN TO MAKE A YARD SALE IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

"YEAH, WELL YOU WERE THE ONE THAT PAYED THE FINE, WEREN'T YOU!" Dante hollered "AND, IT WAS A GREAT PLAN! YOU MESSED IT UP!"

And with that, he stomped off.

_Great plan, huh?_ Trish thought.

"Hey Dante!"

"What!"

"Are we rich yet?"

"Shut up."

* * *

_At the bank-_

"I don't believe it," Harrington announced "you gained money in a yard sale, but managed to get rid of it before the day even ended!"

Dante shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"How did you manage to get rid of it?" Harrington enquired.

"Police fine" Dante replied.

Harrington put his hands between his eyes and closed them.

"Give me strength…a police fine…_and_ you told me you hunt demons, am I correct?"

Dante nodded dumbly.

Harrington took in a deep breath, then returned to his computer.

"I've a feeling that we'll be seeing a lot of each other, Mr. Sparda."

He clicked around for a while. Dante couldn't summon the courage to speak. Though he had just met him, Harrington gave Dante the feeling a father gave a son that had just done a misdeed.

Harrington frowned, he had found something on the computer.

"you've lost twice the money that you told me you lost, Mr. Sparda."

Dante had now made his own personal ass-groove on the seat.

"I had to take back what I sold, and give a refund…" Dante murmured to himself.

Harrington sighed.

"My advice to you, Mr. Sparda, is to take a secondary job, if you are unwilling to quit the one you have."

Dante looked up.

"A night-job?"

* * *

_Well, waddya know! I just gave a hint about what the next chapter is about! _

_In case you didn't notice, I gave Trish a catch-phrase (are we rich yet?) and I gave the basis for how all the chapters are going to end, Dante will end up in front of Harrington at the end if every failed scheme. Don't like it? Tell me and I'll get rid of it._

_Ciao. _


	3. Stick to Your Day Job

_Disclaimer: Anything that's copyrighted in this story is not owned by me_

* * *

_**Ch.3: Stick to Your Day Job**_

Dante was sprawled on the couch, newspaper open. This was strange, because Dante wouldn't have normally set foot _near_ a newspaper. Trish was usually the one who was interested incurrent affairs.

But this was different. Dante still had no interest in the news. He was looking for a new job. A job that would land him on a pile of cash, in his words.

"Any luck?" Trish asked as she handed him a steaming mug of coffee.

Dante shook his head and accepted the mug. He had been rummaging through newspapers old and new for the past twenty-six hours without rest. His eyes had gone red and signs of old age had spread across Dante's face. He was, in short, knackered.

Suddenly Dante jumped up.

"I got one!" he said hoarsely "I found a job, it's perfect!"

Trish rushed over to him excitedly. Her face fell when she saw what Dante had found.

"Truck driver needed, cargo: silverware, fragility: extreme, distance:…" Trish started.

"What!" Dante snapped.

Trish stared at him as if he was a moron.

"You've to drive halfway across the country," she groaned "You can't do that, you're not even a truck driver!"

Dante glared.

"Just watch me, woman!"

"You're not licensed!"

"Like they'll care"

"A cargo of _silverware_, Dante, you know how easy that stuff breaks, get a scratch on them and you lose money, and god knows that you don't know how to be gentle!"

"I'll be careful"

"Dante, look at this, it says that you have to apply for it within the next half hour"

"Then I'll go now."

"Your exhausted!"

"I'll take pep tablets."

Trish sighed. Dante was too stubborn for his own good.

"Fine, do what you want!"

"Whoa, there, woman! I'm not going alone!"

"You want _me_ to come?"

"No!" Dante snapped sarcastically "I want Barney the Dinosaur to sing along with me for the whole journey!"

Now, I _could_ keep showing you the argument, but it would take too long. Let's just skip to the part where Dante reaches the office to apply for the job, still tired, dragging Trish along with him. They managed to get there in time, and take an interview with the man giving the job.

The man was dark skinned, bald, and rather scrawny. He was holding a piece of paper with the job requirements, and another with Dante's CV.

"Now, Mr. Sparda, I can see that you're in top physical condition, that's good,"

Dante, being groggy and disoriented, thought the man was coming on to him.

"Let me get this straight, I like women!" Dante rasped.

The man looked at him for a second.

"Oookay. Anyway, Mr. Sparda, I don't see anything wrong here…but you failed to mention, are you licensed to drive a truck?"

Dante looked nervously at Trish. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Er-hem…yes…yes, of course I am!" Dante rambled, making everything up as he went along.

The man smiled.

"Well then, Mr. Sparda, you're perfect for the job, but I've got one question," he said "who's this?" he indicated Trish.

"Company," Dante said simply.

The man looked at her.

"Company……oh! Right…I can see that…"

Trish's jaw dropped. _He thinks I look like a hooker? CHEEK!_

The man gave Dante a light punch on the shoulder.

"You old devil! Go on, the truck is prepared outside…" he said, pointing to the door.

Dante nodded.

"…oh, and try not to get too messy in there, right?"

Trish's face could have been the definition for "appalled". Dante grinned.

"We'll try!"

Dante got up and walked out the door. Trish followed suit, until she reached the man.

SMACK!

Dusting her hands, she left. The man rubbed his cheek. Little did he know, the red mark on his face would be permanent.

They got in the truck. Dante took a look around, taking in everything that would be needed. He had the guide that came with the truck, looking up what everything was for. Trish got in the other side, looking extremely disgusted.

"What was that!" she shrieked "He thinks that I'm your whore!"

Dante grinned.

"You are!"

"_DANTE!"_

"I'm kidding!" Dante said hurriedly, knowing what an angry Trish could do.

Referring to the guide, Dante started the truck and drove on to the motorway. Nothing much happened for the majority of the next two hours, Dante getting sleepier and sleepier and Trish, sulking, staring out the window, thinking up the most painful way to get back at Dante.

Eventually, Dante's eyes drooped. His grip on the wheel laxed. His head fell on the wheel and his feet stopped putting pressure on the gas. The sound of tinkling echoed from the back.

Trish looked sideward.

"DANTE!" she screamed, grabbing the wheel and turning the wheel, just before they were about to rear-end another truck.

"DANTE!" she repeated, this time giving him a nudge.

Dante didn't move, he was still sound asleep.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him vigorously.

"DANTE! Wake up! DANTE!"

Cars all around the truck had to swerve out of the way to avoid damage. Trish groaned. She would have to do this herself. And it was gonna be awkward.

Trish stepped on Dante's foot, pressing down on the gas, she put her hands over Dante's, gripping the wheel.

She continued to drive on for around half an hour, feeling extremely uncomfortable. She had a feeling when she woke up that it wouldn't be her day…

Dante stirred. He opened his eyes, only to see Trish's back facing him. He blushed. A very strange position to find himself in.

"Errm…Trish?" he whispered.

Trish jumped, seriously hurting Dante in…down there. He squeaked and jumped with her, knocking her head against the roof, knocking her out instantly.

Dante scratched the back of his head nervously. This was definitely the weirdest way he had ever woken up. He pushed Trish of him and returned to driving the truck. He was still tired, though. His tired eyes scanned the road as he sped through it. It wasn't easy being a truck driver. The journey was normally a long one. What didn't help was that there was a limit to how fast a truck drove at. Even worse was that if any damage happened at all, the pay would be lessened. The more damage, the less money. So far he had been lucky enough with the damage. He had heard the silverware tinkle, but he had no idea what condition it was in.

Trish groaned. She rubbed her eyes and got up. She took in her surroundings. She turned to Dante.

"Remind me to _never_ do this again," she whimpered.

Dante chuckled a weak laugh and went back to the wheel.

After about an hour, they reached a garage with a shop. Dante walked inside to find something to keep him awake, and Trish searched for some ice for her head.

Dante found some energy tablets, they had to do. He downed them all in one gulp and got back in the truck. If only he had read the package. _Over-Consumption May Produce Laxative Effects_. It would haunt him for the next while.

Dante stared groggily out the windscreen as cars rushed by. He had never checked how much he would be getting paid for this. Ah, well. Any amount would do. As long as it paid the bills.

A sudden sensation in his stomach made him uncomfortable. He shifted his weight on the chair. It got worse. His stomach made a strange noise. Trish turned.

"The hell?" she stated.

The noise got louder. Dante doubled over, covering his stomach, fearing it might burst.

Dante farted.

Trish shook her head and turned back to the window.

"Men…" she murmured under her breath.

The noise occurred again. Dante groaned. Trish turned towards him, an annoyed expression on her face.

"What now!" she snapped.

"I-I need to go!" Dante groaned.

His steering was getting worse and worse, several drivers were shouting profanities at him. Trish did the honour of shouting some back.

"GET OFF THE ROAD, JACK ASS!" one shouted.

"GET A HAIRCUT, HIPPIE!" Trish shouted back.

Soon Dante swerved for no apparent reason.

"I can't…hold on any longer…" Dante rasped hoarsely.

He slammed his foot on the brake, jerking the truck to a halt. There was a loud SMASH in the back. This time both of them groaned. Trish didn't have the time to hit Dante, because he had just ran out of the door and behind a tree.

Minutes later, Dante got back in, a relieved look on his face and a slight grin to his mouth. Trish glared at him.

"Don't say it!" Dante said, just as Trish opened her mouth. She closed it in a huff.

Now, all you lads out there will acknowledge the fact that one of the worst things you can do to a woman is to tell her to shut up before she started complaining. Trish is no exclusion from those women.

With a "humph!" she turned her back on Dante and stared out the window again. If she had room, she would have assaulted him, fighting tooth and nail, but luckily for Dante, they were pretty much cramped.

The next hour of the journey was spent in silence. The energy pills had went right through Dante, without leaving a trace of peppiness in him. He was as tired as he was before he took them. As a result, he was in bad humour and snappy. Since Trish was in a bad mood, it didn't help.

"You missed a turn," Trish pointed out.

"SHUT UP!" Dante hollered back.

Trish closed her mouth hastily, not expecting such an outburst. Dante wouldn't admit it, but he was lost. Like all men with pride, he refused to check the map, listen to the passengers advice, or ask for help.

"Why don't you ask for help?" Trish asked.

"Because," Dante replied "the last time I asked someone for directions, it blasted me with fire."

Trish rolled her eyes.

"I don't think that it will be the same as that, Dante," she said.

"You'd never know," Dante said cautiously "some of these people aren't actually people at all.

Trish gave up and returned to looking out the window. It really wasn't worth the effort.

Dante soon noticed a sign that stated the name of their destination. With a sleepy grin, he turned into it.

"Almost there," they both sighed in unison.

Soon, the loading station came into view. Dante turned into it and reversed into the proverbial space laid out. (I don't know what "proverbial" means, but it sounds cool)

The inspector opened up the back and checked the luggage. A grim look was set to his face.

Dante looked nervously at Trish.

"Are we rich yet?" she asked.

"I'll check."

He walked up to the man.

"So, how much?"

The man didn't bother turning to face him.

"$10,000" he said casually.

Dante's eyes lit up.

"$10,000! Brilliant! Where do I go to get paid?"

The man shook his head.

"No. You _owe_ $10,000. Take a look at this."

Dante's previous ecstatic expression rolled over and died. His face now represented _The Scream_ in the Louvre Museum in Paris.

The entire back of the truck was pinned with shards of what was once silverware.

"You should really stick with your day job" the man announced.

Dante fainted.

* * *

_Two Days Later, in the bank-_

"Sit down, Mr. Sparda," Harrington said.

This was not a request, but an order. Dante sensed the message in his chosen tone and sat down.

"I see you've taken my advice and took a secondary job," he started.

Dante butted in.

"Yes! So this is all _your_ fault, and I'll be damned if I'm the one that takes the blame, 'cause…" he silenced himself, seeing the look on Harrington's face.

"this may look bad, but we may be able to turn it around, maybe getting you several thousand," Harrington said, getting up and looking out the window.

"How?" Dante enquired.

"It's not something that I would normally approve of…but we may have no choice…"

"_What?_" Dante repeated.

"I have taken several courses in law, Mr. Sparda, we may be able to sue the trucking company…maybe because of bad storage carriages or something like that…"

Dante gulped.

"So, you're saying that we should lie?"

Harrington turned to face him.

"I'm surprised that you're shocked by such an idea, Mr. Sparda."

For the first time, Dante seen Harrington smile.

Dante grinned back.

"Of course not, I'm ok with itif you are!"

* * *

_Sorry, that was kinda slow. Ah, well, we all have off days. There'll be more chapters of this sort, most likely named "Stick with your day job p2" or something like that. I know, most of the time during this you were probably bored. I blame writers block, like I always do. And p'raps me grammar 'aint no gud neither!_

_Anyway, I've got a good idea planned for the next chapter._

_Until then, see you_


	4. Flashback

_Disclaimer: Anything that's copyrighted in this story is not owned by me._

_Joe: This chapter, as the title says, is a flashback to Dante's youth. It will involve scenes with Vergil, and their attempts to make "moneys". Don't expect anything like a lemonade stand or anything like that._

_Oh, and in case any of you don't know, I'll give an update on the DMC4 scene. The Dante shown at the E3 trailer will **not** be used. It isn't based in an icy Tundra, but from the clips shown, somewhere in an urban place. The story will be based after DMC1, and Capcom are suggesting a return from one of the female leads. If it's after DMC1, it'll most likely be Trish. Don't be surprised if it's Lady, though. Most likely not Lucia, as sales for DMC2 didn't go as expected. Capcom are also releasing a "Devil May Cry3: Special Edition," which will involve an extra boss at the end, and will allow you to play as Vergil this time. They've supposedly made a new style for him, called "Dark Slayer". It will have a "Bloody Mansion", like in DMC2, and the price they've agreed on is 20 pounds. If you live in Ireland, I've no idea how much that is in Euro. That's as much as I know on that matter._

_Also, this chapter could possibly have sequels, so watch out for them in the future._

* * *

_**Ch.4: Flashback**_

_**Dante & Vergil (age 6)**_

Dante and Vergil lay on the bed, scrolling through their comics. Vergil flew through them with apparent ease, but Dante needed Vergil to help him out with the bigger words.

Suddenly Vergil let out a cry.

"Look! Look at this!" he exclaimed, pointing at the back of his current comic.

Dante lazily rolled over to Vergil and looked at the article of interest. His eyes shone when he saw what was so exciting.

Vergil was pointing at an ad for "X-Ray Specs: See the skeletons of others and look through walls!".

"Cool!" Dante exclaimed "I want one!"

Vergil glared at him.

"I found it first, _I_ want it!"

"Nuh-uh, you 'aint gettin' it!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

They soon started a fight, clawing and biting at each other over who would get the specs.

_Downstairs-_

A shower of dust fell into Sparda's cup of tea. He looked up. The ceiling seemed to be breathing, dust falling like rain.

He sighed.

"They're fighting again, honey!" he exclaimed in a bored voice.

Eva gave a heavy sighed and picked up the broom. She walked up to the moving ceiling and bumped the broom handle against it, in a butter-churning motion.

The dust stopped falling.

_Back Upstairs-_

Dante and Vergil had agreed (since their fight was interrupted) that they could both get one. What was punching a hole through that plan, however, was the fact that the specs were $5 each. Dante emptied the contents of his pockets onto his bed.

"Lets see…" he said thoughtfully "two buggers, a dead moth, some dirt and a button."

Vergil shook his head.

"That's not going to buy anything."

Dante looked confused.

"Why not? I'd give some specs away for some buggers!"

Vergil shrugged his shoulders.

"They're just weird. They only seem to like moneys"

Dante's shot up excitedly.

"I know how we can get lots of moneys!" he announced "but, we'll need lot's of wood and glue…"

* * *

_Many arguments and boo-boos later-_

Dante and Vergil dusted their hands and looked up at their finished creation. It was basically a very large wooden box, but had room enough to fit a door and a counter. They had also managed to squeeze two chairs, some shelves, some selected items, and another small box that would be used as a cash register.

At the top, in large, blotched red paint, was: _"Conveenyunt Stour" _(Dante had insisted that he should paint it)

"Now, all we need is some customers," Vergil stated.

Dante nodded.

"Shouldn't take long. After all, who wouldn't want to buy our stuff?"

They had both made a search to find anything remotely interesting.

_Vergil's list included:_

Rocks in the shape of historic people.

Clothes that he would never wear, no matter how much Eva yelled at him.

Old toys.

Swords (which were hurriedly taken away by Sparda when he seen them)

Stationery that was lying around his side of the room.

Protective clothing for sports.

Dante's video games (which he had stolen when Dante wasn't looking)

Old videos.

Labelled glass containers of bugs that Vergil had studied, a magnifying glass came free with it.

His old glasses (Dante used to always mock him, but Vergil had mysteriously enhanced his sight with some unknown force)

_Dante's list, however, consisted of:_

Dirt.

Worms.

Buggers specially picked by himself.

The boys dead pet rabbit (which he had dug up after the burial)

Clippings from his last haircut.

Some mouldy old teeth.

Empty fizzy drink cans.

The neighbour's cat.

Bottles of freshly made spit.

Flowers stolen from Eva's precious rose patch.

Vergil's entire collection of _William Shakespeare_, _Gary Larson _and _My First Encyclopaedia_s. (Dante had robbed them at the exact same moment that Vergil was stealing his games)

They waited patiently for customers , sitting down in their seats behind the counter. Vergil had chosen the best spot in the entire town. They had placed their box outside "_Andy's Sweet, pet, comic and game store,"_ anybody that visited there would notice the convenient (or conveenyunt) store placed right next to it.

As expected, customers arrived soon enough. Dante punched Vergil in the shoulder.

"I go first!" he whispered threateningly.

Vergil would normally have punched back, but he knew that if he was given the time, he would have punched Dante first.

"Welcome, to Dante's convenient store!" he exclaimed loudly.

Vergil glared at him.

"We'll talk later!" he whispered.

"Ahem…anyway, welcome to Dante's convenient store, where only the best items are sold by me, Dante!"

Vergil glared at him again, but was ignored. Dante sat down proudly, watching the customers look around interestedly. Vergil punched him hard in the stomach.

"Put my name into the title!" he hissed angrily.

"No!" Dante laughed ""Dante" is a catchy name, but "_Vergil"_? It sounds stupid!"

This earned him another punch in the stomach.

The once interested faces of the customers were turned to horror when they found the rotting carcass of the Fluffy the rabbit.

Horror turned into nausea when they found the worms, buggers, spit and mouldy teeth supplied. Many of them left, but Vergil quickly binned them when Dante's back was turned. Dante's burst into tears when he found that Vergil had sold _all_ of his video games for a bargain price of 6cent. Vergil's laughter died and was replaced with tears when some nerds had bought the free encyclopaedia's that Dante had handed to them. He barely managed to snatch the rest of his books from Dante's grasp. All he had now was _The Far Side Gallery 3_ by Gary Larson.

Soon, a girl walked in.

_Note: No, I'm not sexist. But, as you all know, little boys either hate or are afraid of girls._

Dante gasped and hid behind the desk.

Vergil was currently cleaning a shelf.

"What?" he laughed when he seen Dante's sudden fear.

Dante whimpered and pointed towards the door.

With a shriek, Vergil dived behind the desk with his brother.

"Hewwo? Is there anywone here?" the little girl squeaked.

Dante peeked cautiously around the corner of the desk. Vergil grabbed him and snatched him back.

"Don't! We can't chance anything…don't even be afraid, I heard that they can smell fear…"

Of course, the boys weren't being very quiet during all of this. It would go against everything that they believed in to be quiet.

The little girl peeked around the corner and squeaked with laughter.

"What were you two doing back there?" she asked politely.

Dante was about to push her when Vergil caught his hand.

"Don't touch it!" he squealed.

They both immediately ran to the other side of the counter.

The girl huffed. She, like anyone else, did not like being treated like an animal and excluded from what was going on. She would make them pay, the only way a spoilt little girl knows how…

"I'm going to tell father about this, and he's bigger and stronger than you!" she pouted as she stormed out.

Even though they actually _were_ stronger than her father, they still didn't know who they were messing with.

That girl was Ms. Fletching, daughter of multi-millionaire Eric Fletching, founder and manager of _Air Fletching. _The girl would have her every need tended to, all she had to make a cute face and say:

"Daddy, I _want_…(whatever she wanted)"

And then she would get it. She was, in simple terms, a modern day Veruca Salt.

Dante and Vergil immediately set the whole meeting aside and went back to work.

* * *

_Half an Hour Later-_

Three broad muscled goons walked alongside Ms. Fletcher to the big cardboard box. The Ms. Hadn't given every little detail on the matter. For example, the goons didn't know that this was the shop owned by two six year old boys. All they were told was that they had to smash it.

Dante and Vergil were counting their profits inside. They had much more than enough to buy ten specs. They had decided to continue working in their shop for the next while, they could possibly buy back their possessions that had been stolen and sold by the other.

Suddenly, a knife tore through the wall of the box. Dante jumped in fright. Vergil managed to push Dante out of the way when a knife tore through the space where he was standing a second ago.

"Abandon shop!" Vergil screamed as the two ran out, forgetting their earnings inside.

The two goons ignored the two screaming kids running out of the box as they tore it apart. They had nothing to do with their job.

* * *

_Back in the Twins room-_

Dante and Vergil were gasping on their beds, thanking whoever they could think of for their escape.

The twins room had an interesting feature- the line in the middle that separated a normal child's bed and toys from the junkyard with a bed on top. It was a completely straight line, Vergil's bed on the normal part, Dante's on the dump.

Dante used his pile of rubbish as a slide down onto Vergil's side of the room. He plonked himself onto Vergil's bed as Vergil sat up.

"What'll we do now?" he asked.

A smile was plastered on Vergil's face.

"I know a really good place where there's _loads_ of moneys!" he said.

Dante's eyes lit up.

"Where?"

* * *

_Ten Minutes Later-s_

"I'm off for a beer, see you soon, honey!" Sparda called out as he prepared to leave the house.

He picked up his wallet and opened it. His pupils shrunk when he looked inside.

"Honey!"

"Yeah?" came the reply

"Where's all my money?"

* * *

_5 to 8 weeks later-_

Vergil and Dante ran down the stairs, it was early Saturday morning and the post had arrived. They weren't aware that they didn't have to empty the entire contents of Sparda's wallet into the envelope, but it didn't matter anymore.

Dante seized the large package on the ground and ran upstairs with it, Vergil following suit.

He ripped open the parcel and two specs fell out. They both seized oneand put it on.

"Verge?"

"Yeah?"

"This sucks"

"Yeah"

* * *

_Well another chapter done and dusted. Yes, I know that if Gromit is reading this, he's probably furious. I know that he's the one supposed to be the one covering the twin's childhood, but I couldn't resist. I should've told him my idea and let him do it in his fic, but…sorry._

_If you're wondering where I got the info on the next DMC games, don't bother asking. I don't know any special websites or suchlike, I read in a magazine._

_Now's the time that the author would beg for reviews, but I'm not gonna bother. Doesn't work anyway._

_Ciao._


	5. The Fat Lady's Song

_Disclaimer: Anything that's copyrighted in this story is not owned by me._

_Joe: Wow. Really. I've never gotten this many reviews for such a small amount of chapters. I suppose I could almost change the genre here, and add "tragedy" to the "humour". Fit's perfectly, but some people are put off by tragedy. Wow._

_I like saying that, it makes me feel good._

_Wow._

_I must be starting to annoy all of you. I had better start then, shouldn't I? Wait, wait! One more time!_

_Wow._

_Wow. Hah! Got away with that second one, didn't I? Oh, crap, look! I don't have enough room to keep on jabbering, the story's starting. Crap._

* * *

_**Ch.5: The Fat Lady's Song**_

Dante was enjoying himself. He was barking orders all day, and he was getting an important air off it. He liked feeling important, it made him forget that he lived in a dump with loads of swords with a woman who seemed to like dressing like a downtown hooker.

Not that he was complaining, of course.

Though, at the moment, the "dump" part was being fixed. He and Harrington had managed to sue the trucking company, after a long and embarrassing session in court. The embarrassing part was that Dante had no idea what he was saying, and ended up acting like the judge for a few minutes, seriously pissing off the real judge. Then Harrington had stepped in and fixed it all with a well thought speech.

Dante had ended up with a huge amount of cash, but then had to spend most of it on repairs for the shop.

Which is where he is now. Barking orders to the repairmen, mostly about things that will not help in the slightest bit. He didn't care about that, though. He was bossing people about, and that's all that matters.

Soon, the repairs were finished and Dante stepped in. He couldn't believe it. He had a front door again. And complete roofs. And proper windows.

But, he had barely any of the cash that he had got from the suing.

He had to get another night job.

With a groan, he grabbed the newspaper and plonked himself on the couch, starting his search.

The sound of feet banging against stairs was heard as Trish bounced down them happily. She had just taken a look upstairs and was happy with the improvements. She noticed Dante's sullen mood and attempted to cheer him up.

She put on an extremely annoying deep voice that was a take on a grumpy mood.

"Who's Mr. Grumpy then?" she croaked.

…

…

Dante slapped her.

Rubbing her cheek, she decided that it would be best to leave him alone. She sat down on the armrest at the side of the chair and looked over Dante's searching.

Two hours of boredom ensued. Dante suggested taking the job at the lingerie, then that immediately went down the drain when Trish slapped him. Eventually, Dante found a perfect job. Not "perfect" as in the perfect he used to describe the truck job last time, but actually, as it says in the name, perfect. There were two openings for barmen. Brilliant. Dante's love of beer would aid to this, and he was normally in a good mood when in it's presence. Trish didn't mind beer, normally taking a preference to wine. The other thing was that the pay was high and the hours were precisely after the DMC normally closed. The decision was made without either of the two asking the other. They both immediately shrugged on their coats and went out the door. (Dante couldn't help a grin. He had a _door_!)

* * *

The bar wasn't exactly what they were expecting. It was a huge bar, in the lounge of an extremely posh country club. The owner was an extremely old man, with wrinkles replacing skin. He also was highly uptight. He also believed in manners and punctuation. _I should introduce him to Harrington_ thought Dante when he first met the old man, who's name happened to be Mr. Ozo. Want to hear his first name? Abe. Abe Ozo. Think it's funny? Dante certainly did.

He burst out into tears of laughter when Mr. Ozo introduced himself. Trish had to punch him the stomach to stop him. Another thing. Bozo…erm…Mr. Ozo didn't have a sense of humour.

"Is there something funny?" he enquired when Dante rolled around on the floor with fits of mirthful laughter.

Trish kicked him hard.

"He…he just remembered something from a funny movie we seen. Isn't that right, Dante!" she said, turning it into a growl during the last sentence.

Dante blinked and stopped laughing immediately. He got up and dusted his coat, trying to gather whatever dignity he still had left. In other words, he was trying to look less like the moron that he had just made himself out to be.

Mr. Ozo seemed to lime what he had just heard.

"A movie? Yes, I'm into culture myself…I say, wouldn't it be splendid if we could meet at the opera?" he said.

Dante coughed. The man obviously had the wrong picture over what a picture actually was. But, of course he had to accept. It would be a perfect opportunity to get along with the boss and suck up. After all, it was the first golden rule of getting hired or getting a promotion. Sucking up. The second rule being bribery, of course.

Dante pulled off a fake grin and shook the man's hand.

"Delightful!" he said, realising that big words added to his chance of being accepted "We shall meet you there!"

During that sentence he put on a fake English accent, to put on a show of class. Bozo smiled. (That's what Dante's gonna call him behind his back)

"Right, corking! Me and my wife shall meet you there!" he said, then he turned to Trish "oh, and I recommend that you wear something else…"

He wrinkled his nose at the end of the sentence to add to the effect.

Trish showed him the finger when his back was turned. Dante snatched the hand and pulled it.

"Come on, I can't believe I'm saying this…but we need to go shopping. I don't think you have anything that doesn't make you look like a slut!" he whispered as he dragged her along.

This earned him a kick in the balls, making the rest of the journey considerably slower, as they were going on foot.

* * *

_8:00 that night:-_

Dante had never worn a tuxedo before. It was surprisingly comfortable, and made him feel classy. He liked anything that made him feel like that. Or anything that made him feel important. At the moment, he is looking in the mirror, practicing his English accent.

"Ev'ning guvnah!" he said, clearly enjoying himself "Tally-ho! Wot-wot! Give's a snog!"

"Am I interrupting anything?" Trish barked behind him.

Dante jumped, banging his head against the roof, making a hole. Damn…so that's how the holes got there in the first place. She _had_ to stop creeping up on him.

At the moment she was wearing a red dress, looking extremely uncomfortable in it.

"Ready?" she asked.

Dante noticed a tinge of pain in her voice. With a grin, he nodded.

"Don't want to keep bozo waiting!" he said cheerfully.

They left the place and hopped on the bike. Little did they know that the bike would lower their image hugely.

Because of that, they didn't expect the wrinkled noses that greeted them when they reached the opera. There was an amazing amount of posh snobs pointing their noses to the air when they seen the roaring motorbike arrive and park itself. To their screwed up minds, not using the valet and actually _bothering_ to park the vehicle was extremely undignified.

It was as if they were all trying to smell the moon.

Dante ignored it and pulled Trish along with him inside.

Bozo had reserved a box in the theatre. Of, course, there were other snobs sharing the box with them. Dante felt extremely uncomfortable. No amount of tuxedo's could make him feel classy enough to match all of these. He understood how Trish felt in the dress.

Bozo greeted them with a wave of the hand. Mrs. Ozo sitting beside him. Trying to keep his appearance up, he shot his nose upwards and walked towards Bozo. But, as luck would have it, Dante overdone the nose thing. All he could see was the shiny lights. He tripped over a lady's handbag and fell face first on Mrs. Ozo. There was a gasp in the entire box. Bozo2 (Dante's name for her, thinking of the Cat in the Hat's Thing1 and Thing2) shrieked and slapped Dante across the face, knocking him into a waiter carrying snacks. Soon, Dante was on the floor, prawn cocktails smearing his face and tux and the metal tray acting as a hat.

Trish seized him and roughly pulled him up.

"You'll have to excuse him, his new contact lenses mustn't be working," she as she slapped the mess off the tux.

Dante opened his mouth to tell them that he didn't need contacts, but Trish slapped her hand over his mouth. She gave a nervous chuckle and grin towards the Bozos.

The Bozos and the snobs accepted this as a reasonable excuse and continued with their ceaseless chatter.

"Close call," Dante muttered to Trish as he parked himself on the chair next to Bozo1.

He sat there bored for the next ten minutes, though they seemed like hours.

"When can we go?" he asked exasperatedly.

Mr. Ozo grinned.

"You know what they say, it isn't over until the fat lady sings!"

Dante's face looked relieved.

"Oh, that's alright, I can wait until then."

Soon, the curtains opened and an extremely obese woman started singing loudly, or, in Dante's opinion, warbling loudly.

He sat up quickly.

"The fat lady sang! I guess it's over. I had a great time, see you-" he started.

He never got to finish the sentence, because Trish roughly yanked him down.

"Zip it!" she hissed.

Dante sulked and crossed his arms. This was going to be boring.

* * *

_Half an Hour Later:-_

Dante was snoring loudly, his mouth open, drool flowing freely out. It was way too boring than comfort allowed. He had fallen asleep in a matter of minutes.

The whole opera silenced, though there was mutters of disapproval and tut-tuts. The box that Dante was in glared at him.

Trish punched him in the shoulder. Dante jerked awake.

Dante sat up straight and yawned, then stretched his arms.

_Why is everyone looking at me? I didn't do anything wrong. Whoa, look! That fat lady really looks ugly when she's angry! Wait a minute, why is Trish glaring at me? Hold on there, everyone's glaring at me!_

He coughed.

"Emmm…go on with it, then!" he announced loudly.

The Fat Lady started warbling loudly again. One by one, the snobs turned back to the stage.

Dante started fidgeting. There was nothing better to do. Then, he made faces out of his hands with a pen he found in his shirt pocket. He then made them have a conversation. That got boring. Dante made them do something more…entertaining. He snorted.

The woman to their other side glared at him.

"I am _trying_ to enjoy the opera!" she snapped.

Dante chuckled.

"It's hard, isn't it?" he responded.

With a "Hmph!" she turned back to the opera.

Dante turned to his other side. Bozo1 seemed to be asleep.

Dante frowned. Bozo1 is getting away with it, why couldn't he? Sleeping wasn't allowed, apparently.

Feeling that Bozo1 would have done the same thing, Dante nudged him. Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing.

Dante hit him. Still no reaction.

Then it hit Dante. Bozo1 wasn't breathing.

Dante gasped.

A few people on either side of Dante tutted disapprovingly. Dante was in no mood for this. Though the Fat Lady didn't seem to notice anything, and kept on warbling. The audience eventually put aside the matter and continued with their listening.

Dante didn't know what to do. He tried informing Trish, but she was ignoring him on purpose. Even if _he_ wasn't getting the job, he wouldn't drag her down too.

Dante tried getting Bozo2's attention. She didn't seem to notice.

Dante was getting more and more stressed. What was he going to do?

The fat lady struck a high pitched note.

That did it. Dante snapped.

"SHUT UP!" he bellowed.

Once again, the audience gasped and turned towards Dante. The Fat Lady looked highly offended. Security went rushing up towards the box, about to show Dante out.

Dante pointed to the dead body of Bozo1. The security gasped. Soon, a whole group of people surrounded the still carcass of Bozo1.

Soon, a doctor arrived. He checked for a pulse, with failing results.

"He's dead!" the doctor announced.

"Oh, great! No job for me then!" Dante exclaimed.

More people glared at him. Dante was almost used to it.

Almost.

"Stop staring at me!" he bellowed, slamming his fist against a support beam.

Due to his inhumanity, the beam snapped, sending half of the box crashing down, Trish was smart enough to push people out of harm's way.

Dante wasn't so smart. Or lucky.

He fell down from the box onto the stage.

* * *

_The Next Day:-_

Dante was in the emergency section of the hospital. It wasn't an emergency, actually. He could've healed by himself in his own time. But, the doctors didn't know that. To them, falling from a box to the stage and breaking almost all the bones in your body seemed pretty much like and emergency.

He was actually in an emergency ward. All around the room were other's who were badly injured.

He was In a full body cast, unable to move. Unable to speak properly either. Every time he tried, he ended up sounding like Kenny from South Park.

Trish was sitting on a chair next to him, looking worried. Though, inside she was secretly laughing. Dante looked kinda like a mummy in the cast. A mummy puppet, for that instance. His arms and legs were being held up by ropes.

A nurse walked in with what looked like a lawyer. Dante groaned. What came out though, was "mmm!"

The lawyer lay a sheet of paper on Dante's bedside table.

"Mr. Sparda, this _may_ not be a good time, but here is what you owe to the theatre, good day, Mr. Sparda" this was all spoken as if it had been revised and memorised, like all lawyers. And with that, he left.

Trish picked up the bill.

Her jaw dropped.

"How bad is it?" was what Dante tried to say, but only "mmmmmmmmmmmmm?" came out.

Trish placed the bill in front of Dante's eyes.

The intercom blazed around 30 seconds later.

"_Dr. Murphy, Dr. Conroy, Dr. Smith. Dr. Taylor, Nurse Kelly and Nurse Phelin report to the coronary wing, patient 30691A is having a heart attack"_

* * *

Dante was sitting in front of Harrington's desk, yet again.

Harrington looked worried.

"Mr. Sparda, only two days ago you had _two_ life changing operations, are you sure you're okay?"

Dante nodded. He didn't want to speak more on that matter. His body fixed itself. The doctors constant pumping it with drugs only slowed it down, actually.

Harrington had been given a note from the doctors to not mention the bill.

"So…you have a _small_ matter to deal with here, how are you planning to fix it?" he asked politely.

Dante frowned.

"That's why I came here to see _you_!" he snapped.

Harrington smiled.

"Of course. I think that you should stop taking on secondary jobs, Mr. Sparda, from what I've seen, they only end up badly."

Dante nodded.

"Right, then. I'll keep up night jobs."

Harrington was taken aback.

"N-no, Mr. Sparda, I said that you should _stop_ these night jobs!"

"I know!" Dante retorted "I'm not deaf!"

Harrington was about to open his mouth when Dante answered the question he was about to ask.

"A few visits ago, you told me to take on night jobs. Look what happened. Now. You're saying that I should stop. I'm not stupid, you know!"

Before Harrington could respond, Dante stepped out.

* * *

_Liked it? _

_Anyway, I have an idea planned for the next chapter. That's it. One stinkin' idea. I've no idea what to do after that._

_I'm all open to ideas. Just give the main setting and I'll build on it. Don't worry too much about it. I'll probably think something up eventually, even with no help. Until the next time,_

_Ciao (yes, I like saying that as well!)_


	6. Stick to Your Day Job 2

_Disclaimer:- Anything that's copyrighted in this story is not owned by me. **Anything that's not, I'll claim as my own and make money off! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!**_

_Joe: Er-hem…anyway, this chapter isn't the original idea I had for this chapter, but something showed up on the review page that sounded good. Oh, there was also some confusion over the author thing. There's only one author for this story, you can call me Joe. Gromit is the author DEVIL MAY GROW UP AT SOME POINT, DAMMIT! Which I highly recommend. If we're both working on the same story, it'll say something like Gromit & Joe: at the start of the story. Depending on who's writing it, you'll see one of our names on the summary. For instance, this story, I'm writing it, so you see Joe: at the start._

_Also, anyone that believes in the tooth fairy, the Easter bunny or Santa Claus, turn away now._

_Wow, look at all that blabber I wrote down. I kinda got carried away. So, here we go._

* * *

_**Ch.6: Stick to Your Day Job 2: Baby Blues.**_

**_As requested by The Tyrant Hamster_**

Dante was flicking through the paper again. Not that it was his fault, of course. It was society's fault. And the economy's fault. Anybody's fault except his, as far as he was concerned.

He had developed a new system. He would circle jobs that seemed okay, then later, Trish would rate it out of ten. 1 meaning perfectly safe, 10 meaning that Dante would break something and they would be sued for everything they've got.

You may think that an instance like that couldn't possibly happen. You'd be an idiot if you thought that. Look at every single other job Dante took on. You may also think that hardly any of the jobs would get a 10 rating. Then here's a shock for you!

Just about every circle that Dante put down had a ten out of ten beside it.

Everything, from the builder, to the pillow tester, had been ten-ified. He was becoming something of a Homer Simpson.

Dante circled a job, cut it out and handed it to Trish.

She stared at it, her pen placed on her chin in a thoughtful expression. There was a slight pause.

"Ten."

Dante raised an eyebrow.

"You're sure?"

"Yup. Disaster guaranteed. You couldn't possibly be an editor without offending someone. Then, they'll sue. You know how humans work these days, any chance they get and they'll ruin your life in a second."

He tossed another one at her.

She didn't bother thinking it over.

"Ten."

"Jesus, woman! They want a friggin' man to get in a Barney suit! What's wrong with that?"

"You get nervous in front of cameras. You'll probably end up acting too much like a dinosaur and attack someone."

Dante sighed. This was true. He loathed cameras. It ran through his family. Once, Sparda himself visited Hiroshima during a T.V special being filmed in public. Now look at Hiroshima. Sparda had managed to pull off a nuclear explosion. The Japanese blamed the Americans and, well…you know what happened next…

He lazily circled another job and tossed it at Trish.

She studied it for a second and scribbled on it.

"Six."

Dante looked up hopefully.

"You mean, there's a chance I won't screw it up?" he asked excitedly.

Trish nodded.

"But, the chances are that you'll mess it up _somehow_."

"Who cares? I mightn't!" Dante declared as he shrugged on his coat, heading for the door.

Trish got up.

"Dante!" she yelled after him.

Dante jumped, and made another small hole in the ceiling. Rubbing his head, he turned towards her grumpily.

"What!"

"I'm coming."

"Jesus! Next time, why not just get a drill and ram it upwards? It'll save the effort of annoying me!"!"

Trish rolled her eyes and walked out the door, Dante's ramblings cutting through the pleasant silence that was once in the air outside, going on about how he would have to get a helmet, or get ceiling-insurance and other stupid things like that.

* * *

The job they applied for was at a crèche. A crèche that was full to the brim with snotty, bawling infants. 

Dante seriously regretted circling it when he arrived. The person hiring didn't seem that picky. Dante didn't blame her. There were signs of stress all over her face, her voice sounded urgent, and her eyes were red from sleepless nights. _Any_ help was welcome, as long as they could distract…entertain some kids so she wouldn't have to mind them all.

The interview didn't last long either. As soon as Dante introduced Trish and himself, she shook their hand with trembling hands and told them that they got the job.

She told them to start right away, and as soon as they agreed, she picked up her briefcases and dashed out of the building.

Dante could've sworn he heard her mumble "_They're all yours!"_ as she ran off. Dante turned to the table beside them. There, was all the paperwork for the building and all the legalities involved. Dante grinned. No getting sued, then.

The grin was wiped from his face when Trish opened the door, to reveal two dozen and a half of worries. In other words, children.

Dante sat down on the chair, the back facing his front. The children stared at him innocently. Dante knew that it was all a façade. There was no innocence in children, no matter how hard you looked. Secretly, he knew, they were all plotting his demise. You didn't need to be a psychic to figure that out.

He introduced himself and Trish, hoping that this might help to get rid of any suspicions that the kids had.

The kids just stared.

Dante felt himself sweat. This was going to be difficult.

The kids still did nothing but stare at him with their big puppy eyes.

Dante was seriously creeped out. He nudged Trish, asking her to try and entertain him while he comes up with something to do. She nodded.

Trish turned towards the kids as Dante walked out of the room.

"Hi there, I'm Trish," she said in a cutesy voice.

"Who do you think you're talking to!" snapped a child.

Trish glared at him.

"Aren't you sweet?" she said, though none of the kids missed the coldness in her voice.

This brat was obviously the Alpha-male. The leader. It made sense. He was the biggest, and had the weirdest looking eyes. The biggest freak, in other words. Inside, Trish smirked. The kid looked like _The Problem Child_ in those movies.

She gulped. She couldn't do this by herself.

* * *

Dante hurried around, looking in vain for something to keep the pests busy for a while. A DVD, VHS… some friggin' rat poison for all he cared…

Then he found the sticky note on the fridge. He looked at the sticky note. It read:

_Giant Dog suit in first press to the left._

_Junk food in fridge._

_Emergency mallet in second press to the left._

Dante grinned. Emergency mallet? Now we're talkin'!

But, oddly enough, Dante decided that he should resort to violence when all else failed. What he did for the moment was take bag after bag of junk food out of the fridge. Then, knowing that the only way to keep them entertained was to lower himself, he reached inside the press and took out the dog suit. His eyes widened. He knew he had to…but, this was just degrading!

The dog suit had a giant pink tongue coming out of it's mouth, it's eyes were big and cutesy, and it's ears were floppy. Jesus…it even had a white circle on it's stomach!

With a sigh, he put it on and did the zip. If any of his mates found out about this…

Dante opened the door and jumped in. He couldn't help a gasp.

Trish was hanging upside down on the ceiling, her mouth gagged. She was hung by a single rope, and because of that, she was swinging back and forth. Some of the kids were using her as a piñata, beating her senseless with toy horses.

When the beasts…children heard the sound of a door opening, they screamed and ran towards the sound. Luckily, children are easily confused with a simple disguise. They even smiled when they saw the giant dog that greeted them.

Though, to Dante, it seemed that they were saying that they wanted to eat him. He quickly threw the bags of junk food at them and dove for cover.

If only he knew the damage that would cause. The kids laughed loudly and dove on the sweets, shoving the sugar filled treats into their traps.

Dante managed to free Trish from her predicament. She sighed with relief when she landed on the ground, apparently ignoring the pains in her back from landing.

"I'm outta here!" she whispered as she tip-toed to the door.

The children sensed their prey escaping, and lifted their heads from the feed. The sugar seemed to go right into their systems, and they sprinted on all-fours like animals to Trish. Trish heard a noise, and turned slowly around. She screamed when she saw the brats charging at her. Thinking quickly, she dived behind the giant dog known as Dante for cover. The children immediately stopped. The big one stood up and walked up to Dante.

"Mr. McSniff?" he asked politely.

Dante coughed surprised. Not only was he called something that he assumed was the dog's name, but the kid had been _polite_. Dante didn't know that the kid was capable of such an act.

"Ruff?" he replied, thinking that it would be the most sensible thing that a dog would say.

"Can you let us play with the pretty lady?" he the little prat continued.

Trish couldn't help smiling. The kid had called him _the pretty lady_, no-one had ever said anything so nice to her, ever!

Dante thought. This just might work out. He could use Trish as bait for them, using her as a diversion, while he got something to shut them up for a while.

Dante nodded, his tongue bouncing against his forehead.

He picked up Trish and threw her across the room, for them to get.

"Sorry!" he whispered as he did this.

Trish shrieked her head off when she flew through the air.

**THUMP**!

She collided with the wall, her face mushing against the solid concrete. Her body slowly slid down the wall. She turned her head to face the kids. They bared their teeth at her. Taking this as an extremely bad sign, she backed up against the wall as hard as she could, screaming hard.

The brats dog-piled her, making a pile of kids to crush her.

Dante ran into the back, looking for another thing to shut them up.

He searched through a pile of useless stuff.

Plasters…pacifiers…condom? The hell? Dante outwardly looked disgusted, but pocketed it. Anyway…armour, that'll come in handy…chain-mail…helmet? That woman must seriously have taken a beating with those kids…ah-hah! This'll do!

Dante had found a video of the lion king. A Disney classic, it involves savage animals, so it should keep them happy. And, it's really long, and should make them all sleep eventually, they're toddlers, right?

He ran inside the main room, clutching the video. The sounds of Trish's muffled screams could be heard when he opened the door. He couldn't help chuckling when he found Trish suspended in the air again. What had that woman been teaching these brats?

The kids turned towards the sound of a door opening, then they smiled again.

The alpha-prat walked forward again.

"What is it, Mr. McRuff? You want us to watch this?" he enquired.

Dante nodded again and put it on. All the barbarians grabbed a pillow and teddy and sat down to watch it. Behind their backs, Dante untied Trish again.

**THWACK!**

Trish smacked him right across the face.

"How _dare_ you throw me at them!" she snapped quietly.

Dante rubbed his cheek and made pining noises. Trish chuckled.

"If I had a camera, I could blackmail you for god knows how long!"

Dante hit her and walked through the door that separated house from crèche.

He slipped out of the dog suit and leaned against the doorway, watching over the kids. They had fallen asleep already.

"Wow…I guess terrorising woman twice your size must be pretty tiring, huh?" he whispered.

Trish looked less than amused by this statement. She replied with a raising of the middle finger. Then she leaned against the other side of the doorway.

"Look at them…I want to have kids someday…" she whispered.

Dante blinked. He edged slowly away, and after about five steps, broke into a sprint, escaping from the house.

Trish snorted. She knew that it would work. Now, she badly needed some booze. The crazy lady must have some somewhere in this house…

Suddenly, the alpha-prat stirred and rubbed his eyes.

Trish gulped.

"Not again!" she whined.

* * *

Dante returned to the house after about an hour. Trish must have forgotten about the kid thing by now…

He opened the door and stepped in. Trish was hanging from the ceiling again. Those kids really have it in for her…

Then the kids turned to him. Dante gasped. He completely forgot. He wasn't wearing the Mr. McRuff suit!

Sensing their preys fear, they pounced.

The kids had left a few hours ago. The parents had parked outside and the kids had immediately left. It must have been their routine, leave as soon as their parents car was outside.

"You know," Dante stated "that wasn't so bad!"

"Yeah!" Trish agreed "but I don't think that I'll do it again!

"Yeah…now, all we need to do is get down from here…"

* * *

_I just realised, that chapter didn't involve Harrington at all. I suppose I couldn't have been bothered. Anyway, that's one request, any more? Even later on in the story, I'm open. Just hit me with an idea and I'll do it. Yes, I know, that chapter was kinda slow, sorry…_

_Anyway, see y'all soon._

_I don't know about you, but I kinda got inspired by this story._

_Time for me to hang people upside down…_


	7. Big Al's Disaster Vehicles

_Disclaimer:- Anything that's copyrighted in this story is not owned by me._

_Joe: I know, this took much longer than usual, but I've been getting less and less time on the computer. And, more and more requests have been coming in. If your idea wasn't used, don't worry, I might get round to it at some point or other. Even though this isn't a request, but a concept that I had thought up myself. HA! MY brain **does** still work! TAKE THAT AND SHOVE IT, DR. CAFFREY! _

_And, yes, I, know, most of you probably aren't reading this, and those of you who are want me to shut up and get on with it…so here we go.

* * *

_

_**Ch.7 : Big Al's Disaster Vehicles**_

The amount of money has improved lately, from the suing and the selling of the crazy old lady's house. After the half hour being hung from the ceiling.

Though, the improvement was minimal, and Trish had even deposited the money in a bank, otherwise, Dante would have gone on impulse and drowned himself with beer kegs. Dante had managed to steal some away and put it in a different bank account, because he knew that Trish was hardly better, and would take some out when she seen some new clothes, shoes, accessories or anything.

The result of this saving led to more money being needed outside of the bank, bills needed to be paid and food had to be bought.

Dante hadn't even bothered to look in the newspaper, he just let Trish loose with her pen and let her put a big fat "10" beside every job listed. He didn't want to go through the trouble of bothering to ask her. He knew that he was accident prone and unlucky. Accident prone wasn't the right way to put it, actually. More like, wrecking ball. That was the way it seemed to anyone who looked at the damage that Dante had caused passing by. He had managed to destroy $10,000 worth of silverware, most of his shop, and a whole segment of the opera.

Trish jumped.

"2!" she squeaked with excitement.

Dante's jaw dropped.

"Gimme!" he rasped, motioning for Trish to give him the paper.

She threw it at him hastily in her excitement. Dante fumbled with it and accidentally knocked it into the air. Out the window. Carried into the wind and out of sight.

Dante's jaw dropped lower. Not in excitement, though. In pure and utter anguish and in horror.

He turned sharply towards Trish with a glare on his face. She grinned nervously (and in fear, Dante's face could have stopped a charging bull at that moment,) at him and gave a weak chuckle.

There was silence for a few seconds.

She joined the paper out of the window.

After slamming and locking the window, Dante huffed and sat down on the couch and flicked on the T.V, trying to clear his mental suffering, ignoring the sounds of protest coming from outside.

"_Welcome to the news…"_

Not now.

"_WHY, YOU COTTON PICKIN' LITTLE!"_

Seen it.

"_And it's a goal to Ireland!"_

Replay.

"_The Alconius Liderdali gets it's supplement from it's own excretion…"_

That's just gross…and boring. Next.

"_Come to Big Al's discount vehicles…"_

Commercial.

"_And, it's Schumacher in first"_

What was that last one?

"_Just look at this Honda, for example! Look at the sleek design! Perfect condition and used! Also, looking for a job? We got plenty of space here, at Big Al's discount vehicles!"_

Dante stood up suddenly, a determined expression plastered to his face. This was a sign. Or coincidence. Or, just pure dumb luck. But, "sign" sounded better and more convincing, so a sign it was.

He opened the front door. As soon as Trish noticed the portal back inside open, Dante threw her coat at her.

"We're going."

Trish opened her mouth to protest, but Dante had already gone in the opposite direction. She gave off a heavy sigh and jogged to keep up.

* * *

The big garage came into sight. Dante quickened his pace. Trish grabbed on to him. 

"Back at home-" she began.

"It's all right, I forgive you."

Yet another mouth hit the ground.

"You forgive _me_?-" she started.

Dante had already stepped inside. Trish sighed again. He _had_ to stop doing that.

Big Al, Dante had found out, was rather modestly named. He wasn't big. He was _huge_.

Before, Dante had never believed the legends of Bigfoot. Now, Dante had realised that Bigfoot had discovered McDonalds, gorged himself then had started his own garage for used cars. And taken the name "Big Al" to be his new name. All he had to do was swap the "Foot" with "Al". He hadn't discovered deodorants yet, though. Or the razor and scissors. Or the friggin' shower…

He had also, apparently, gone bald, replacing the hair on his head with even more bodily hair that stuck out of his sleeves. And he had somehow managed to shrink to half of the size that Dante was.

And had developed a ridiculous strong Texan accent, starting sentences with things like "Well, HOWDYDOO!" or "Well, I'll be a gopher slappin', yodel trappin' buffalo!"

As some of us know, this isn't a Texan accent. One could be incorrect be calling it an accent at all. It wasn't very far from being a new language altogether. The closest thing it was to was a drunken take on a monkeys version of the Texan accent. Also, buffalos didn't slap gophers. Nor did they trap yodellers.

This is the information a person gathers when meeting Big Al for the first time.

As the past paragraph explained, Big Al was an extremely obese man, barely reaching the 5 foot mark. He wore a giant cowboy hat that was close to the point of being novelty. His bodily hair could be described as "foresty" which isn't a word, but the only way that you could describe it.

He also had very large canal boats as feet, which is why Dante got the impression of "Bigfoot" off him.

Big Al had taking a liking to "these here strangers-folk" immediately, and had hired them. His body hair, Dante had discovered, had a man growing out of it. The hair wasn't coming out of the man, there was too much hair and too little person for that.

He had assigned the two on different jobs. He had developed names for them as well. Dante was "redser" and Trish was "sweet cheeks".

Neither of them were very happy with their names, Trish most of all.

Dante was assigned to the bargaining, as he had grown a sixth sense on how to get money in. Trish was assigned as "eye candy", to attract more customers, as Big Al seemed to have taken a fancy to her. He had even given an outfit for her to wear, which she had refused point blank to put on. Even she had limits, as slutty as she normally dressed.

Soon enough, customers came, looking interestedly at the discount used cars around the place.

Big Al nudged Dante.

"There be's some customers, Redser! Time te' reel in the deal!" he whispered in his thick accent.

It took a few seconds for Dante to register what Al had just said, and nodded when he did. Al waddled swiftly over to the customers to introduce them. Dante was impressed, something so obese and tiny could move very fast when it wanted to.

"Well, HOWDYDOO!" Al exclaimed very, very loudly.

Dante could've sworn that the people made a record in jumping, their heads almost scraping the ceiling. Dante knew how they felt. The Devil May Cry was almost decorated with imprints of his head on the roof. They turned timidly to Al and put on smiles and shook their perfectly normal human hands with his bear like ones.

The customers were an old enough family. The parents were either in their late forties or early fifties, their daughter looked about 15, and their son…

Dante turned swiftly around, his demon senses had warned him that something wrong was going on. The parents looked embarrassed and the daughter clicked her tongue in annoyance.

The son was following Trish about, begging her to give him her number. Dante suppressed a chuckle. The son was around 17, and, by the look of it, fancied Trish. Dante had a feeling that the son wouldn't have even bothered leaving the car they had if it weren't for Trish.

The father stormed over to the son, then they had a heated argument for a while. Eventually, the son submitted to his fathers lecture, and shuffled lazily after his father back to Al.

Al showed them around for a while, telling them about "the perfect condishun of this here contraption," and suchlike.

After what seemed like ages, the family had finally found a car that they liked. Al nudged Dante.

The family turned to face him. Dante scratched the back of his head nervously, wishing that he had chosen a different job.

Knock 'em dead!" Al whispered.

As he said this, Al had attempted to elbow Dante, but had ended up belting him in the stomach.

Dante got winded, disabling him from breathing properly. He made strange noises, and he tried to start bargaining with the people.

"Th-this……cahahahar…is in peferct…I mean, perfect…" he coughed up, then realising that he was unable to finish the sentence.

Big Al didn't notice that he had done anything wrong, and that Dante easily got nervous. The family looked appalled, and the son burst out laughing. Dante glared at him. The punk thought that his pain was funny! He would pay!

Then Dante noticed the amulet around the punks neck. He stared interestedly at it.

Big Al noticed it as well.

"What's that there doohicky?" he enquired.

"oh, that?" the mother coughed. She looked pretty embarrassed.

"My clan icon," the son stated.

Dante blinked.

The dad sighed.

"He's part of a gang. A gang with many rivals. They all have their own icon, funny story…" he said, then trailed off into some boring verse.

Dante didn't bother listening. There's more of them?

He got up and hurried to Trish's workstation, outside the door.

There, outside, was a pile of groaning teens on the floor, on each of their faces was a red hand mark. Dante's eyes followed the trail and they reached Trish smacking the last teen straight across the face. With a **_thud _**the punk fell. Trish stuck her nose into the air haughtily, looking highly offended.

Dante smirked. And to think, he was actually worried for Trish's sake…the punks didn't stand a chance!

Then he turned his attention to the front gates. There, was the bodies of just about every boy, teen or single man in the block. Maybe they should give her something else to do, it was far too dangerous to place her in view of the nearby perverts…

He clasped on to her arm and dragged her inside. This had to stop, before someone got seriously hurt.

The family had already bought the car and had left. Al turned to them and decided that they weren't suitable for the jobs they were given. Or, in his words, "they h'ent no good at them there jobs th'aht they were doin'"

He gave Dante the job of "test-driver", he had to take the buyer around the block in the car that they were thinking of buying, to affirm the quality.

This would have worked perfectly well, but as we all know, Dante has an uncanny ability to mess things up, especially where money is involved.

Trish was given a job as Al's secretary. Little did she know that this was because Al liked her, really liked her.

Soon enough, more customers arrived, taking a look around.

Again and again, Al's "HOWDYDOO!" echoed through the distance to make Dante jump again and again, banging his head against the roof. He was almost used to it by now.

A man came up to Dante with Al, saying that he was thinking of buying a car. Al made him take the man for a drive around the block with the man, as was his job.

Dante got in the car and sped off. Al turned his attention to the door leading to his office, where Trish was currently working.

* * *

The trip was uneventful for the first few minutes, the man looking happily at the space in the car and it's contents. That's when Dante realised Al's big plan. These cars were in terrible condition, merely made to look good. It didn't him long to figure that out, because the speedometer was merely painted on, and the steering wheel was made of Styrofoam. The engine made strange noises now and then, and the mirror was cracked. Al had obviously taken cars from the junkyard and had spruced them up a bit. 

Dante started sweating again. This job was going to be harder than he thought.

The man noticed Dante's sudden apprehension and stared.

Dante ignored him, then felt his pupils narrow. There was a sharp turn up ahead. He didn't know if the car could manage it.

Surely enough, when the car had gone halfway through the turn, and when it seemed like it would make it, the steering messed up. The wheels jerked to the side, sending them right into the kerb. Several pedestrians shrieked and leaped out of the way, howling curses.

"DAMN IT!" Dante bellowed as they crashed through the barrier blocking them from the construction works being carried out on a new building.

The man in the passenger seat screamed and bounded out of the car for safety.

Dante gritted his teeth. He tried pulling on the brakes, but the lever simply snapped like a twig when Dante reached for it.

Dante yelled as the car zoomed up a pile of dug up dirt, sending it flying into the air. Dante's yelling became more desperate as he soared upwards. The car landed with a **thump** as it landed on one of the steel girders on the building under construction. Dante fiddled with the wheel, trying to find some way to keep on the track. He narrowly avoided falling off the building frame when he turned onto another girder at the corner. The car turned onto it's two side wheels, it's other two turning uselessly in the air.

His screaming continued as he sped around the steel girders helplessly, barely managing to avoid falling off to certain firing from his boss. Then, the worst occurred. A cat was asleep on the girder. Dante's eyes widened.

"GET THE FRIGGIN' CAT OFF THE GIRDER!" he howled.

Two builders having their lunch turned grumpily to face him. Their expressions of anger turned to those of fear as they dived out of the way of a speeding car. The cat didn't budge.

"GET IT OFF!" Dante requested loudly.

The nearby builders were too busy escaping to pay him any attention.

The cat yawned audibly as it slowly turned it's head groggily towards the direction of all the noise. The noise it made then sounded almost like that of a human groan. It was on it's seventh life already. It had previously died from trucks, low flying airplanes, vans, jeeps, and now, a car was added to the list.

There was a loud "RAOR!" as the cat was crushed under the tremendous weight of the speeding Volkswagen.

Then, the car soared once again through the air, due to the fact that the cat had somehow acted as a ramp.

Dante's screams filled the air once again as he landed with another "thump" on the ground.

There was a strange noise erupting from the tires. Apparently, the rubber had worn off some of them, and the bottom left one had come off. He could no longer control the car.

The car swivelled in dangerous curves for a while, forcing countless other vehicles off the road, the yells of protest radiating from the turning cars and trucks as they veered off course.

Then, The car turned into an industrial estate, filled with warehouses for various shops and factories.

Dante's loud screams had turned into a loud groan. This, would be annoying.

Then, to his relief, _Fred's Pillow Emporium_ loomed ever closer. He sighed. Things were changing for the better. Just a little bit closer and it would all be over, the car would speed into a pile of pillows, making it stop, and letting Dante get out safely, and in comfort.

Then, when the inviting open door was _just _there, the car swerved again, turning away from the safety of the pillow store, and then, to his horror, the car crashed through the front entrance of _Li'l Prickly Cacti Greenhouse: Every Kind of Cactus Imaginable Inside!_

Dante burst into tears when the car throttled at full speed through the greenhouse of nightmares.

This was definitely **_not_** his day.

Once again, Dante's screams filled the air as the needles and pins jabbed him from every angle, some poisonous ones getting him in places that he didn't like to think about.

Then, once Dante had escaped from the greenhouse, he groaned again, this time a hint of anguish in it.

_Bobby's Attack Dog Training Centre_ was the next building that the car smashed into.

Dante's throat was becoming unbelievably sore from screaming, as was just about every other part of him as savage dogs snapped at him from every angle.

He was almost delirious when the car smashed through _Booby Trap Inc.: Protecting Your House One Step Further Than Alarms!_

Let's just say that this continued for quite a bit longer, Dante getting seriously injured. Then, after about 7 more warehouses, the car veered off course again, just as it was about to go through _Poppa's Entertainments, Friendly Company, Treats and Alcohol_, then turning back onto the main road towards _Big Al's Discount Vehicles._

* * *

Trish was extremely pissed off. For the past half hour, Big Al had bugged her, made crude jokes that she was forced to laugh at, and she had to put up with him almost slobbering over her. She bet that Dante was having a much better time driving around… 

She even had to put up with some stupid lawyers saying that Al's cars were death traps and that they were going to shut him down…as if! Probably just some pranksters.

Then, Al had done the stupidest thing possible. He had given Trish a slap to the behind.

Just as Dante swerved right through the front of the garage, Trish had hurled Al right through the wall, and, right into the path of the car.

Dante was knocked right out of his seat as the car struggled to go over the obese mountain known as Al. Eventually, it succeeded.

Dante wasn't much better off. He proceeded to smash right into the wall, adding a fractured skull to his extended list of injuries.

* * *

"I know, don't even bother saying anything," Dante stated. 

He was sitting in Harrington's office again. Harrington was giving him one of those "you're in trouble" looks that angry teachers normally give.

Harrington even had his mouth opened, but then closed it after Dante had finished his sentence.

Dante got up and was about to leave the office when Harrington opened it again.

"I was _going_ to say that you were extremely lucky."

Dante turned slowly around, a bemused expression on his face.

"Er…_Big Al_, as he calls himself, seemed very nervous that you would leak some information about him or something…so he didn't sue you. He even paid the companies who's buildings you smashed up. He also gave you this…"

Harrington handed Dante an envelope. Inside was a wad of cash with a note on it.

_Redser,_

_Thanks for not telling' them there stiffs about the car. Also, tell Sweet Cheeks thanks for not suin' cos' o' dat fun I had with her in the office._

_Big Al._

Dante raised an eyebrow. He had completely forgotten! After all of those people who had already sued him, he had forgotten that it was possible for him to sue others…and he supposed that Trish had already got her revenge for what he done in the office, after all, she had hurled him through a wall, hadn't she?

Anyway, he was up a good bit of cash, this would do him for a while…

* * *

_That was a bit slow, sorry. It's hard to come up with good ideas, as you can see. I blame writers block, as usual. And, there's a lot of reviews that I haven't replied to lately, please forgive me._

_Oh, can you do me a favour? Gromit's new chapter is coming out. It's the new chapter for DEVIL MAY GROW UP AT SOMEPOINT, DAMMIT! And I'd be grateful if you reviewed._

_Ciao._


	8. Flashback 2

_Disclaimer: Anything that's copyrighted in this story is not owned by me._

_Joe: This one took shorter than the others, so be grateful. (**Also, be grateful that an author of high talent such as myself is willing to write a fic for all of you measly peasants. **Just kidding. I'm the kind of author that writes his fics when he manages to break into someone's house and uses the computer. Yes, I live in the dumpster. I once worked in Sesame Street as the green guy, but they decided that I was too ragged for the job. Wow, look at all that stuff that I'm fitting in between brackets.)_

_And yes, this is another original idea thought up by myself. I'm keeping the requests for when I'm low on thought. Here we go._

* * *

_**Ch. 8: Flashback 2**_

_**Dante and Vergil (age 17)**_

Dante lay on his bed in his and Vergil's dorm. They were in the orphanage, because Eva, their mother, had been slaughtered by demons several years ago. Sparda… I can't explain, because he shouldn't have been in the earlier chapter anyway… Let's just say that he's not there.

Anyway, Dante was lying on his dorm bed, staring up at his picture of a naked model. He had managed to keep it hidden from the inspector's gaze. All he needed to do was to make such a big mess everywhere else, that the inspectors attention wouldn't even reach the ceiling. Dante's mouth was curved in a fixed grin, and his eyes were so focused on his target, that he didn't notice the boot flying in the air zooming in his direction.

There was a loud "thump" and a roar of pain as the boot connected with Dante forehead.

He sat up angrily as he glared at his slightly older twin, who was sitting by the study desk, an open book lay before him with a pencil and pen.

"What was that for?" Dante demanded harshly.

Vergil gave a cheeky smirk.

"Couldn't help it. But, Dante, you need to do your English now, I don't want you copying off me again," he said with a hint of humour hidden in his tone.

Dante noticed it and it burned against his already bad mood. Then, it turned into that of depression.

"Why can't I? It doesn't do anyone any harm if I copy, does it?" he asked.

Vergil frowned.

"Yes it does. Remember what happened last week? We were _both_ almost put on detention." he said.

Dante thought back.

_They were in Mr. Corffe, their English teacher's room. Mr. Corffe asked Dante for the answer to one of the homework questions. Dante frowned as he squinted down on his rushed scribbles._

"_I think that the meaning of life is…Vergil, what does that word mean?" Dante asked as he replied._

_Vergil shrunk under his desk as the teacher gave him an unyielding stare, their friends laughing in the background and some nerds tutting._

"Your point being?" Dante enquired.

Vergil sighed.

"Never mind…just don't write down anything that you don't understand," he croaked.

He flung his copy at Dante.

Dante roared in pain again as the copy hit him between the eyes.

Vergil sighed and turned on the T.V.

Dante had beaten up a rich kid to get it.

Though outwardly mocking of such brutish behaviour, he had a feeling that he would have done the same thing.

He flicked through the channels, looking for something watchable on.

After a while, something caught his eye that brought his attention along with it.

"_Out NOW! The Heart-breaking, super manly-musk!"_ bragged the commercial.

In the background was a man that was obviously wearing it. Holding on to each of his arms were two models in bikini's. Everyone looked happy.

Vergil seriously doubted that a mixture of different scents would have that effect, but the way it was presented…it was sublime. The only thing that Vergil knew was that he wanted it, and that was all that mattered.

It must have _some_ effects, he reasoned. Otherwise, it wouldn't be advertised. He defied any male that saw that advert and didn't want it. It was the prey and he was the hunter, he thought, and all he needed was the right tools…

And he knew how to use those tools wisely.

"Dante. Go beat up Warren," he ordered.

Dante quickly stood up and walked out of the room. After about two minutes, there was a loud, squealing "OW! TAKE IT! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE, OR I'LL TELL!" pumping from the corridor outside.

Dante walked in, looking extremely proud, holding a large wad of cash.

Vergil opened up his palm demandingly. Dante inserted the cash, keeping a small amount for himself.

He saluted smartly and sat back down, less than smartly, tripping on his shoe laces. Summoning whatever dignity he had left, he gracefully got back onto his feet and returned to copying Vergil's homework.

Dante then caught sight of the advert. It was the kind of one that lasted near 5 minutes, constantly declaring out the number, showing the different deals that they gave with it.

"I want one too!" he stated.

Vergil nodded dumbly as the advert continued. Now it showed a small clip of a man strolling through a nightclub, then getting around ten numbers.

This advert seriously made people stupider by just watching it.

"_Get it for $100! While stocks last!"_

Dante's and Vergil's heart sank. $100! _And_ while stocks last! By the time they reached that amount, the stocks would probably be gone.

They both stood up in unison, both reading each other's minds. They would both make that much money, whether they died in the effort or not.

Vergil was about to leave when he decided to check on Dante's progress with the homework. He raised his eyebrows with what he saw.

"What the _hell_ is this supposed to be?" he snapped.

Dante shuffled his feet.

"You told me not to write down anything that I don't understand, Verge," he answered.

Vergil was astounded.

"Yes, but all you've written here is: The (blank) played his (blank) because he (blank) in front of the crowd. He felt very (Blank) playing in front of everyone, but he knew that it was his (blank) dream to (blank) an (blank)" Vergil quoted.

Dante stared at the ground, ashamed.

Vergil shook his head.

"I'm not even going to _bother_ reading what you said for the second question.

Dante's eyes could have bored a hole in the floor.

Vergil shrugged his shoulders.

"Doesn't matter, let's go."

They both marched out of the main corridor, their minds focused on the task that lay before them.

Dante stopping only to give Warren a quick punch in the guts.

* * *

They were sitting on a bench in the Central park of New York, the city in which their orphanage was located. Dante was munching on a hotdog that he had bought and Vergil nibbling delicately on a takeaway that he had purchased from the nearest French restaurant.

They had already spent all the money that Dante had managed to get from Warren.

Vergil had his hand under his shoulders in deep thought. How would they make 100 bucks in so little time?

He voiced his thoughts out loud.

"How'll we manage this?" he queried.

Dante's expression looked painful, as it always did when he was thinking.

"Dunno," he replied "we could take on some little jobs from shops, you know, sweeping, or putting stuff on the shelves…OY!"

At that last moment, a stray dog had seized it's opportunity and had run off with Dante's hotdog. Dante scrambled to his feet and broke off after the lovable canine, yelling "COME BACK, YOU MISERABLE FLEA-BAG!" and suchlike.

Vergil rolled his eyes into the air and pretended that nothing strange had just happened. Dante's screams and the barks of the dog echoed in the background, grabbing the attention of several passers-by, who laughed and pointed at their antics, some shaking their heads in disapproval. Vergil, of course, denied all evidence that he and Dante were related.

Eventually, something grabbed Vergil's attention. There, walking towards him, was a bunch of school jocks; the kind of big, burly sports boys that got all the girls. They were generally all stupid morons. The leader, Zack Spruce, the biggest and stupidest, walked up to Vergil.

"Oy! Bookworm! Deal. You do my homework for me," he said, as if striking a bargain.

Vergil, being desperate for money, was interested.

"What's in it for me?" he asked.

The group whispered amongst themselves. This was new. Normally, any nerd that they confronted was normally honoured to have something to do with them.

Zack's muscular face was screwed up into one of confusion.

"You don't get anything. Squat." he replied.

Vergil suppressed a snort.

"Then, it's not much of a deal, is it?" he answered.

This would normally have been the moment where the group tried to beat up the nerd, forcing him to do it. Now, however, was different. More than half of the jocks were guffawing stupidly at the antics of Dante, who had now caught up with the dog, and was now in a frantic wrestling match in the mud over the hotdog. There was now a whole crowd of people who were egging him on surrounding him, some laughing, others throwing things at him.

Zack thought that he could take on this (or so he thought) geek. Vergil was anything but a geek. And he didn't appreciate being called one either. Which is what Zack did before aiming a left hook at Vergil's face.

Faster than you could blink, Vergil ducked and gave Zack multiple punches to the stomach, winding him.

Zack doubled over in pain, and two of his cronies charged at Vergil.

Vergil swiftly dodged one of them, then grabbed on to the other using him as a battering ram to smash into the other. The two of them collapsed onto the ground.

By now, the previously distracted cronies had stomped into the battle. They needed in on the action.

Vergil looked around him. There, were some cheerleaders from the school. He grinned. Once he beat the jocks, they would be on his side, hopefully going all over him. (literally, he hoped.)

Soon, there was two crowds in the park. One for the dog v. idiot fight, one for the jock v. bookworm fight.

Warren was strolling past the mêlée, taking in what was going on, then he realised that he could make money out of this. He thought of a reasonable price, then made a sign saying: _50 cent entry_.

Since everyone was so interested in the brawls, they had no hesitation in paying the price.

_Half an Hour Later:-_

Warren was counting his cash as the onlookers to the fights departed. Dante had managed to free the hotdog from the grasp of the dog, then, to everyone's disgust, ate it. Vergil had humiliated the group of jocks, beating them senseless, then giving them all wedgies. They had run off in tears, squealing. Vergil had then looked towards the cheerleaders hopefully. They were all chatting excitedly. He grinned. That's it! Vergil's the cool guy now, isn't he? Yes, that's right, and now you all have a major crush on him, right? Etc.

As Warren turned his back on the people about to leave, Dante's fist smashed downwards onto his skull from out of nowhere. Vergil swiped the money jar out of the air before it touched the ground.

They both departed happily, having decided that they had made an acceptable profit.

Warren was lying against a nearby tree, stars flying around his head.

* * *

Vergil had come up with a good few master plans to make money. Warren's money jar had only contained $65, meaning that they were more than half way there.

He was leaning against the wall of the orphanage/school, striking bargains with some of the idiots in the place. He was auctioning off some of his and Dante's unneeded possessions. Being the idiots that they were, they bought them without a second thought. Vergil hummed happily as he counted the dough made from the last sale. He looked towards Dante's work station.

Dante had made a small wooden sign and desk (like the lemonade stalls you see in cartoons) and he was sitting by it. Above him read: _Kisses: $1, 10 cent for every ten seconds after the main kiss._

Originally, Vergil had thought it to be a stupid idea. He got a surprise, though. There was actually quite a large queue leading from the stall.

Dante kept saying "next!" every time he saw a girl that, in his opinion, was ugly. The rejected girls didn't take much offence, merely going to the back of the line for a second try.

After a particularly long smooch, Dante closed his eyes and put his lips forward for the next. It never came. Dante opened his eyes to find a cross teacher glaring at him. Dante jumped and yelped in surprise, knocking over the badly built stall, also knocking the money-jar into the air. He made a run for it, knowing that an angry teacher's face meant that a rule was broken.

Vergil caught the money jar, then froze as he noticed that the teacher wasn't approving of what he was doing either.

"RUN!" Dante bellowed as he dashed off.

Vergil quickly nodded and threw the money into the air, turning tail and fleeing from the might of the angry teacher.

The jars smashed when they hit the ground.

* * *

Dante and Vergil were shuffling moodily down a street. The money that they had made had been confiscated, and they had received detention.

It was a week later, and they both thought that the product _must_ have already been sold out.

They were walking by an alleyway beside a shop when they noticed something strange (to them). There, was an annoyed looking shopkeeper heaving what looked like a crate full of the musk that they craved.

He was murmuring things like "useless pieces of crap!" and "'ent no good, people returned them asking for refunds!"

Dante and Vergil exchanged excited glances. This could be their day after all. Waiting for the shopkeeper to leave, they both grabbed a bottle each and ran off with it.

_That Night:-_

Dante and Vergil were in a nightclub, both dancing with their newly acquired cologne.

This really could be their lucky night.

Dante slowly danced over to an attractive looking girl around his age.

"Hey good lookin!" he announced.

She slapped him. He sulked as she strode off.

This was definitely **_not_** how he imagined it to turn out. He looked over to see how Vergil was doing.

Vergil looked extremely embarrassed, his cheeks red. Dante realised that his cheeks weren't red because of his embarrassment. If you looked closely enough, you'd notice that the redness had a hand-shaped pattern to it, due to the repeated slapping that had occurred to it.

Dante sighed. He would give it one last shot before he gave up.

He waddled over to an extremely attractive woman who was sitting by the bar. She appeared to have drank quite a lot.

He grinned as he strutted up to her and flirted noticeably.

She turned around and smiled at him. Dante grinned. This was going to work.

The woman hiccupped once and collapsed onto the floor.

Dante frowned.

_Damn it._

Elsewhere, Vergil's face was now a deep shade of blue, with quite a bit of black mixed into it.

The twin's eyes met, then they both nodded. It would definitely be best if they left.

The walked towards the door, when they noticed that the two most annoying, most unpleasant, and the most ugly girls in their entire school were in the way.

They both turned to face the twins.

They both sniffed. They smelled the fumes. Then, to both of the boy's horror, they smiled and dragged the two with them.

Dante's and Vergil's shrieks broke through the night silence.

* * *

_What do you think? Hope you liked it._

_Anyway, don't be expecting for all of my chapters to be that quick. I got lucky here, I normally don't get that much time on the computer, so don't be worried if it takes ages for a new chapter to appear._

_Please review._

_Ciao._


	9. Stick to Your Day Job 3

_Disclaimer: Anything that's copyrighted in this story is not owned by me._

_Joe: Yes, I know. Even though no-one complained about it, you must have all noticed that, in my last chapter, the main story was good, but I finished off terribly. Thanks for not saying anything._

_And, I know that this took ages to write. Not my fault…actually, it is, but I have another story that's been successful enough, and I prioritise it first. It's an action called "**The Justice Within Two Evils**" and is thriving on. Anyway, my point is (apart from the fact that I want you to read and review it) that I don't want people to expect frequent updates on this any more. Count yourself lucky if you get two chapters in a month. Yes, that much slower. _

_This one's set before the Temi-Ni-Gru came up, here's how Dante ended up with a hellhole for a shop at the start of DMC3._

* * *

_**Stick to Your Day Job 3: The Beginning of the Suffering.**_

_**Dante (aged around 19?)**_

A large pack of dogs chased after the new mailman. Their mouths were lolling and drool was flowing freely out of them. They would get this guy, one way or another. He was inexperienced and everything here was new to him. He thought that the bitter feud between dog and mailman was merely stereotypical.

He was dead wrong.

Dante pedalled harder on his bike, cursing the day that he signed up for this crummy job. Not only was this humiliating, but painful too. One of the dogs had managed to bite a piece off his pants, showing off his boxers to all and sundry.

This was definitely **_not_** part of the contract.

He should have taken that job as the milkman…not only would it be easier, it enjoys a _very_ good reputation for getting…hanky-panky.

Yes, he would definitely get a different job. Anything but this.

Deciding that now would be as good a time as any, Dante pulled on the handlebars, making the bike flip into the air, starting a 360 degree flip. Halfway through the flip, at roughly 180 degrees, Dante pushed against the bike, sending him forward, but knocking the bike into the pack of dogs as a diversion.

The bike slammed into the ground in front of the dogs. The dogs skidded to a halt and started barking at Dante as he made a run for it.

Dante knew that this meant the end of his career as a mailman, but he didn't care. It was what he wanted, actually.

Dante ran in the only direction that lead to somewhere where he could get shelter. He ran in the direction of his home.

* * *

Dante let his knees come apart, making him collapse into the chair. He closed his eyes and thought. What the hell should he do? He was on a small enough budget, sure enough, but Dante still couldn't handle it.

The home he had was actually an apartment in a crack house. In a really shady part of Manhattan. In the background you could hear police sirens constantly shrieking. The sounds of people screaming could also be heard now and then.

The sound of roaring could also be heard from downstairs.

Dante ignored it and thought. There didn't seem to be anything that would suit him. He couldn't be a politician, as he despised them, and would most likely mess it up somehow. Nor could he become a technician, as he wasn't up to date with most modern technology, and always ended up breaking something somehow…

Then, it hit him. Quite literally, actually.

For, as his luck would have it, a magpie was flying through the air outside holding a nice shiny spatula, and made the mistake of trying to fly through the half open window.

The bird had been squashed against the closed part, and it released it's hold on the spatula, sending it flying into the back of Dante's head.

Dante roared and jumped into the air for two reasons.

Firstly: In huge and considerable pain for being at the receiving end of a gravity-challenged implement.

Secondly: In triumph, for having realised that he had never tried the catering and cooking business yet.

He got up immediately and rushed out of the door, thoughts of success running through his mind, only positive thoughts of this soon-to-be new job occurred to him. But, as we all know, Dante can't tell the future, and seriously failed at this attempt.

Dante looked around nervously. He had absolutely _no_ idea where to find a restaurant, In his haste, he had forgotten to think things over. He had also managed to overlook going through the newspaper for a job.

He was cold, unemployed, and pretty bored. He wanted home, now.

Plus, he needed to find a restaurant of some shape or form…

He broke into a sprint in the general direction of home.

* * *

_Joe: Yes, I know that I just wasted a lot of space, but I thought that it would be funny if Dante ran out of the door, getting caught up in the moment, but then returning shortly afterwards to actually start. Just to keep in character, as Dante didn't come off as extremely intelligent in DMC3. Back to the story._

Dante kicked the door open wide and stepped back in his room. He knew that if this was a T. V sitcom, a laughing track would be on right now. It didn't help his embarrassed mood.

He tossed his coat onto a nearby chair, then rummaged through his bin, looking for a newspaper. There was no newspapers anywhere else in the apartment, as the Dante at that age didn't like reading, mainly because he wasn't the best at it.

It made him feel small.

When he felt small, he yelled.

When he yelled, bad things happened

Need I say more? Anyway, Dante found an old newspaper at the very bottom of the bin, right underneath the rotting apple and the outdated copy of _Playboy_. Yes, the magazine involved reading within it's depths, but really, Dante never noticed the small words at the bottom, he was too involved with the rest of the print.

Why do I keep going off track?…

Right, so Dante found a newspaper at the bottom of the bin and looked through the available jobs, hoping with all of his heart that a suitable job that he found was still in business. Sparda knows how long that thing has been down there…

Soon, Dante found a restaurant that fitted his standards (as there was no Trish there to grade it) and he cut it out, then stormed out of the door.

_Let's skip to the part where he realised that he forgot something again, shall we?_

Dante stormed back in after ten minutes.

He forgot his coat.

He walked to the door again, but stopped to think this time round. He had learned a lesson, something 13 years of education had failed to do.

Coming to the conclusion that everything was fine, he left, a little more cautiously than usual.

* * *

The restaurant that Dante was applying for was, luckily, still in business.

It was a Chinese restaurant called the _City Stir_.

Dante walked in curiously, a look of interest on his face. This might actually work.

He opened the door with a dragon as a handle, then ignored the tinkle of the bell as he gathered in his surroundings.

Ornate décor filled the rooms, like pictures of past relatives of the owners, almost see-through lampshades covered the lights etc.

A dump, in Dante's opinion.

He walked up to the counter and stood waiting for someone to come.

…

…

"WO-YU-WA?" came a shriek from behind the counter.

Dante banged his head against the ceiling (and so it begins…) and caused a hole to appear in it. Rubbing his head, he turned his attention to the counter.

For someone of his height, it seemed perfectly normal. But, for the tinchy owners of the shop, it was huge. All you could see from the other side of the counter was their hair moving about.

It was like watching a bunch of wigs go around on a pulley.

"WO-YU-WAH?" the waiter loudly repeated.

What WO-YU-WA meant, Dante later found out, was "What do you want?". The best reply to this, being "WO-YU-GAH!" which meant "what have you got?".

"I…erm…" Dante mumbled "want a job here."

The man hoisted himself up onto the large counter.

"Yu-wa job?" he enquired.

Dante nodded dumbly. He had only the vaguest idea as to what this man was saying. Or trying to say, at least.

"I take-yu see boss, ya?" he replied.

Dante nodded again. He was pretty sure that the man had said "I will take you to see Boss, yeah?".

Suddenly, the man seized him roughly by the shirt (Yes, Dante was wearing a shirt that day. Sorry, girls) and dragged him behind the counter, managing to bang Dante's head in the process.

Still seeing stars, Dante was placed before the man who was obviously the Boss. He too was extremely short.

The waiter had a heated conversation in angry Chinese with Boss.

"So…" the Boss said eventually "You want to work at the Shitty Shtir?"

"I want to work _WHERE_!" Dante loudly queried.

"Shitty Shtir, yu-deaf, shtupid head?" Boss answered.

It took Dante a while to work out that this man spoke with a lisp. That explained a lot…

"Yeah," Dante answered the question that had been asked ages ago "I want to work at the City Stir."

"_Shitty Shtir!_" Boss angrily corrected him "Get it right, ya?"

"Right, right…don't lose your head," Dante muttered "Shitty Shtir, whatever makes you sleep at night…"

Boss stepped forward, and stood too close to Dante than comfort allowed. If he was tall enough, they would have been nose-to-nose. However, they were actually nose-to-nipple, and Dante couldn't shake off the feeling that this guy bites. He remained cautious. Anyway, Boss narrowed his eyes and looked up at Dante, then turned downwards and inspected his stomach, his waist, and some other places.

Dante felt himself sweat. This guy must obviously have issues about 'special areas', and ignored the rules that surrounded them. Therefore, he had no problem in kicking Dante in the ass to test their firmness.

If he wasn't his potential boss, Dante would have easily tossed this guy out a window by now.

After Boss had finished his inspection, he nodded.

"Yu-shuitable!" he stated, happy with Dante "Yu-shtart work now!"

Dante grinned, even though he had been violated by his boss more times than necessary. Even though once wasn't necessary…

"What do I do?" Dante asked.

"We try-yu on different thingsh!" Boss said "You advertishe for now! Cushtomersh will like-yu!"

Dante raised an eyebrow.

"What make you say that?"

Boss grinned.

"Yu-have nice ash! I like-it!" he squeaked.

If Dante could have vomited right there and then, he would have. This man sickened him. Dante had no problem with gays, but this guy…

Boss hurled a uniform at him.

"Put that on!" he demanded.

Dante nodded and asked for directions to the bathroom.

"Why?" he asked, a crooked grin on his face "Yu-change here!"

Dante gulped. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all…

* * *

"Come on in!" Dante exclaimed loudly "We've got the best Chinese food ever!"

He was standing outside the door of the restaurant under the watchful eye of Boss. Boss was watching his progress, seeing whether advertising for him was the right job for Dante.

"Come into City Stir!" Dante bellowed.

He winced as he received a swift kick from Boss.

"_Shitty Shtir!_" he barked.

Dante groaned. He knew what the affect would be if he said that. Mothers who's children had heard him curse would be out for his blood, and some others would taunt him. Then again, even though he expected the compliment from someone else, he hoped what Boss said was true…he should be able to land a girl by the end of the month…

Sure enough, Dante's eyes met with a red-head who was passing by. They had a conversation, and were just about to exchange numbers when Boss came back from the bathroom. He was less than pleased when he saw the woman.

He slapped Dante across the face.

"_No Girliesh_!" he snapped.

"But-" Dante intervened.

Couldn't he at least receive her number before she left?

"No butsh!" he snapped again.

The red haired girl stormed away indignantly.

Dante glared at Boss.

"Thanks." he hissed coldly.

Boss seemed pleased by the past conversation.

"No more advertishing for-yu!" he stated "Yu-will just flirt all day long with Girliesh! Yu-be waiter!"

Grabbing Dante by the ear, Boss walked back inside.

* * *

Dante stood by the counter in his uniform looking extremely uncomfortable. Boss had told him to take orders and such like, but no-one had shown up yet.

Eventually, after what seemed like ages, a man walked in. Dante's eyes lit up.

"Hello-welcome-to-City-Stir-how-may-I-take-your-order?" Dante asked _really_ fast in his excitement.

"Gaah!" the man screamed before running out.

"Oh…" Dante whimpered "……damn…"

_Maybe_ he should try and keep calm when customers are near. He shuddered as he thought what Boss would have done if he had seen situation that had just occurred. He would have yelled and yelled in his lisp…and Dante would have to act like he was listening all the way through it.

And…he wondered, where had all of the other employees gone? He had been greeted by another waiter, but Dante hadn't seen him since. In fact, it seemed that he and Boss were the only ones working here any more.

Dante leaned against the counter with decreasing patience.

_Hours later-_

Dante's droll was cleaning the desk. He had fallen asleep hours ago. Little did he know, Boss had set up a sign next to him, saying _'Hot guy sleeping: $10 bucks for 5 minutes alone with him'_

Surprisingly enough, this had attracted customers. Women (and men) queued up to him and paid. All of them desperate.

Dante slowly opened his eyes to see an unbelievably obese teenaged girl staring at him.

Dante jumped, banging his head against the ceiling. He backed up to the wall, gasping. He took in his surroundings.

All the way up to the entrance was a large queue filled with desperate women and gay men. Boss was leaning against the wall beside the entrance flicking through a wad of cash. Dante glared at him, then marched up and yanked the money out of Boss' grasp.

"Wo-yu at, man?" Boss declared indignantly "I make lossa money out of-yu! Gimme back money now, shtupid head!"

Dante looked at the wad of cash snuggled in his hand. He didn't want to give it away.

Glaring at Boss, he pocketed it. Boss lost no time in kneeing Dante in the nether-regions.

Dante fell to the ground, his hands clasped between his legs. Boss snatched the wad of cash out of Dante's pockets.

"Tend to cushtomersh, now! We-make money now that they're here!" Boss announced to a cross-eyed Dante.

Dante weakly nodded, then collapsed.

The people that had arrived because of the Boss' sign hadn't left, so Dante had to tend to them and take their orders. At the moment, though, he and Boss were having an argument over Dante's pronunciation.

"Itsh-Shitty Shtir! Shitty Shtir!" Boss demanded.

"City stir!" Dante responded "And I won't pronounce it your way, it'll scare off customers!"

Boss stomped his foot against the ground.

"Yu-pronounce it my way, or-yu find another job!"

Sighing heavily, Dante picked up a bowl and put a cloth over his arm in true waiter fashion.

"How may I take your order?" he asked a nearby table of customers.

He ignored their giggling and waited for an answer.

"I don't know…they all look good" one said "Is the City Crab good?"

Dante nodded.

"What do you recommend?" another asked.

They all turned to Dante for enlightenment. Dante turned nervously to Boss. Boss clasped his hands together as if in prayer and nodded vigorously.

Dante gulped and finally answered.

"Try the Shitty chicken-it'sh delicioush!" he said.

The table went silent, shocked. Dante turned to Boss again. Boss rolled his hands in a circular motion, signalling for Dante to continue.

"Or how about the Shitty Chow-Mein?" Dante continued, his voice showing hopelessness "The Shitty Prawnsh are good, too!"

More silence.

…

The entire table burst out laughing. Dante flushed and turned to Boss. Boss shook his head, as if it was all Dante's fault. Grabbing him by the ear once again, Boss dragged Dante away.

"Yu-very bad waiter!" Boss bellowed "Yu-be cook now! Yu-cook the food!"

Dante couldn't help smiling. He had always wanted to be a chef. He slipped on the white hat while beaming.

"I get ordersh!" Boss stated as he walked out of the kitchen.

After a while, Dante got a request for a large portion of Curry.

He turned to the ingredients that lay before him. His before mentioned enthusiasm wasted away, and was quickly replaced with worry. Who was he kidding? He couldn't cook.

Closing his eyes, he reached out his hands blindly and began to mix some ingredients.

_Half an Hour Later-_

The hungry customers waited impatiently. Some of them had already left. Boss stood by the kitchen door, his foot tapping with anxiety.

Finally, Dante opened the door, holding a silver platter with pride. He never felt so proud. He strode over to the table that had ordered the curry. He placed the platter in the middle of the table and took off the lid.

The entire room went silent as they stared at the abomination that lay on one of the tables. The curry was an aqua blue colour, and smelled of smoke and sawdust.

"Try it!" Dante exclaimed happily.

With a trembling lip, one of them inserted a spoon into the gunk and scooped a piece onto it. This required a struggle, as the spoon seemed to stick to the curry. The woman had to get her friend to help her get the spoon out.

She looked at the spoon. She was almost in tears.

Dante, of course, was oblivious to all of this, as he had his eyes raised to the ceiling in pride, his chest swelling.

The woman slowly put the spoon in her mouth and swallowed.

_Skip Scene-_

**WHAAAOOOOWHAAAOOOOOOO!**

An ambulance thundered down the road beside the City Stir with the woman as cargo in the back.

Dante and Boss stood by the entrance. Boss was having trouble speaking.

"Yu…yu-poisoned her!" he rasped.

Dante was just as shocked as Boss was.

"I know…" he said, but then suddenly changed his tone of voice "How was I supposed to know that rat poison was human poison as well?"

Boss was at a loss for words.

"I'm fired, aren't I?" Dante mumbled.

Boss nodded slowly.

* * *

Eventually, Dante sold his apartment in the crack house and bought another one in the slums. His orphanage that he had been to had mailed him something that his parents left for him, which they had forgotten to give him when he left at eighteen.

The sword, named Rebellion.

He started an extermination business after a dream he had received one night. His father had come to him and told him of his dark blood, and of the legacy that he must take on.

Dante, being impulsive and light-headed at that age, took this as a sign, and started his career as a Devil Hunter.

Days Later, a man called Arkham gave the shop a visit…

_**The end, or the beginning?**_

* * *

**__**

_Joe: Yes, I know, so don't bother complaining. This chapter wasn't up to standard, and it was the only idea that I got at the moment._

_And, before you ask, I'm male, and STRAIGHT, got it?_

_I just put in some things that stated otherwise in this chapter because I want everyone to be able to enjoy this, no matter what your interests are._

_Anyway, until the next time, and I've no idea how long that's going to be, so have patience._

_Ciao._


	10. Of Old Farts and Inhalers

_Disclaimer:- Anything that's copyrighted in this story is not owned by me._

_Joe: Yes, I'm back. After about half a year._

_You can kill me later._

_Anyway, I actually have a half-decent excuse. I'm working on another fic, an action, called 'The Justice Within Two Evils'. Yeah, the title sucks, but there you go. I've received some very flattering reviews for it, so don't be put off._

_This chapter is needlessly long, (Which qualifies as another reason as to why it took so damn long, I think), but go ahead. You can make it. I managed to write the thing (eventually)._

_So, here we go._

* * *

_**Ch. 10: Of Old Farts and Inhalers**_

_**Back to Present Day.**_

Trish sighed and smacked her hand over her face in exasperation as she watched over Dante's proceedings to rummage in the dumpster next to the _Devil May Cry_.

"Remind me," she suddenly called out to her business partner "As fascinating and undoubtedly exhilarating diving about a dumpster surely is, _why_?"

Dante poked his head out from beneath a stinking old box of Pampers nappies.

"Because, my absent-minded friend, I have run out of papers and I seemed to have insulted the paper boy," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone of voice "So, we won't be getting anymore from him. I need to get some more."

Trish sighed and shook her head.

"Couldn't you just apologise for whatever you managed to do to offend the pimple-faced brat?"

Dante stuck his nose into the air in an attempt to be haughty.

"Of course not! I am of high lineage and blood! I will refuse to lower myself to apologise to such commoners!"

Trish snorted.

"Commoners?! Pray tell, which one of the two of you are currently waist deep in a dumpster?"

Dante's nose returned to earth, yet his face remained indignant.

"Completely beside the point."

And with that, he took a deep breath and submerged once again into the stinking pile of waste and rubbish. Raising her head and hands to heaven as if to beg for strength, Trish turned tail and walked back inside; she no longer had the willpower to go along with Dante any more.

She plonked herself on the couch, happily aware of Dante's absence from it, so she brought her feet up and flicked on the TV.

Outside, Dante was making slow progress, if any. He had successfully recovered somebody else's old newspaper, but discovered with horror that it was dated from the 60's. Holding his breath again, he dived in again.

Inside, he banged his head against something that solved all of his current problems. No, it wasn't a newspaper, but an inhaler. A rusted and old one. Normally, anybody else would have pulled a disgusted face and tossed away the manky old relic. But, Dante wasn't a normal person.

Climbing out of the dumpster with an ecstatic smirk plastered to his face, Dante polished the inhaler against his coat, then walked inside to show Trish his findings.

Dante didn't quite get the reaction that he had expected.

_**Dante's hopeful reaction (I think the diving in the dumpster thing had him dizzy for a while with the smell, so don't worry for his sanity):-**_

"Look what I found!" Dante exclaimed, kicking the door open, which magically stayed in one piece.

For some unknown reason, he became a few years younger, becoming 19 again. Outside, far into the underworld, the ruler of all evil committed suicide, deciding that he was tired of it all.

Trish turned to face him from the stove, a million warm chocolate cakes at the ready for eating. A smile of incredible happiness spread across her face.

"Well done, Dante!" she stated, pulling off her top "Now all of our problems are gone!"

Dante smirked as she leaped on him, then the two took it to bed.

Not much later, Dante won the lottery, and the two became instant millionaires. He didn't actually need the inhaler after all…

_**The actual reaction :-**_

"Hey, Trish, look what I found!" Dante exclaimed, kicking the door open, smashing it to pieces. He cursed to himself; he would have to buy _another_ one…

Trish turned lazily to face him from the couch, the remote clutched in her hand, her face smeared with the remains of the last piece of chocolate cake that once resided in the fridge.

"What now, Dante?" she asked in an almost tired tone.

Dante waggled the manky old inhaler in her face, as if to answer her question.

With a scream, Trish smacked it out of his hand, sending it flying out of the window.

"Why in the blue _hell_ did you bring that in?" she barked, her face that of a Nightmare with a headache, looking ready to make Dante join the inhaler.

Dante's expression drooped.

"You didn't like it?" he asked in a hurt voice.

"Why should I like it? It was a smelly old inhaler that some guy or girl with asthma shoved into their mouth!" she continued barking at him.

Dante closed his eyes and shook his head. If only this turned out the way he had planned it to. Things would be _so _much better that way.

"It's what the inhaler represents, Trish," he explained, as if it was obvious "_Old people_, you stupid woman! They're all probably loaded, with nowhere to put their money!…"

Trish simply wiped the chocolate off of her face, then smiled and nodded as Dante worked up into a frenzy of unyielding speech. It was sooooo much easier to humour him, rather than to ask how a rusted old inhaler made him realise all this.

"…Are you ready?" Dante suddenly called out as he turned to face the door. Or, rather, the doorframe leading out of the building.

"mhm….wha?!" Trish blurted out. He had caught her off guard. All she had expected him to do was continuously blabber on, as usual, then eventually get tired.

She nodded, having no idea what they were about to do, then jogged after him.

* * *

Not much later, Dante found himself beside the owner of the retirement home, who looked like he would soon be joining it's residents. He was bald, with a snowy white beard below his chin, which spread all the way up to his ears. It covered pretty much most of his face, going over his mouth.

His name was Mr. Deek.

Deek was currently looking at Dante's forms, his eyebrows creased. Apparently, there was some information supplied that wasn't to his liking.

"Mr. Sparda, is it?" he asked. He had a thick, deep English accent.

Dante nodded and smirked at Trish, who was sitting on a nearby chair with her fist supporting her head.

"Well, Mr. Sparda, _most_ of these documents seem up to scratch, and I will gladly hire you, but, your birth certificate is…well…untouched."

Dante's eyebrows raised.

"Untouched?"

"Yes. Not filled in, I mean."

Deek stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Yes. Would you like me to fill it in for you?"

Dante raised his shoulders in a non-committed fashion.

"Go ahead. Shoot."

Deek gave some information a further glance, then asked:

"Place of birth?"

"USA"

"Blood?"

"Red."

"…Right." Deek commented, but didn't press on the subject.

Trish inwardly sighed. When that question had come up, she had felt a little nervous. Dante didn't have a human blood-type.

"Sex?"

Dante held out his fingers, then seemed to count. He went over the same fingers a few times, running out of fingers to count with.

"42 times," Dante stated, grinning broadly.

Deek was speechless for a while.

"I…see…well, Mr. Sparda, you may as well go ahead, you have the job."

Dante smirked as Trish punched the air.

"But I must warn you, Mr. Sparda," Deek suddenly stated.

Dante's smile faltered.

"Yeah, against what?" he asked nervously. Until about a month or two ago, Dante was the fearless Legendary Devil Hunter, and would never even blink in the face of a large terrifying monster - but he had wizened. He had discovered the world of Lawyers, and suing and monetary matters and toddlers and fat Texan imitators. He was a changed man/devil.

"This _is_ a retirement home," Deek explained "You must keep your patience at all times, as an argument might make the gentlefolk around here overexert themselves. I have seen that some of the documents had comments from past employers that you tend to lose your patience. That will need fixing."

Trish merely waved it off as Dante nodded indifferently. Old people? No bother. They were all into 'manners' and 'pronunciation' and the sort.

Trish and he had both dealt with children - and had miraculously survived - and old people were the exact opposite, weren't they?

Soon they would find out - old people _were_ different; a new yet as evenly (if not more) evil breed of human.

"Oh, by the way," Deek said "There is a shift system here, only one of the two of you may work at one time - unless you are both necessary."

"You go first" Dante immediately said, microseconds before Trish managed to open her mouth.

Deek had already turned and left before Trish could object. Strange man, she thought, as she walked through the door leading to the sun room, where the old people were bound to be - it was a nice day, as Dante turned to the staff room.

The staff room was a small and dim room. The single window in it was pointing to the _one_ place in the summer sky that was cloudy and overcast, making the atmosphere dull and soulless. There was a small fridge that may have been a tiny safe, a microwave with a hole in the glass, a TV with no colour and had a fuzzy sound blocking out most sound and a coffeemaker that frequently made a belching sound. Dante didn't dare approach it.

The walls were plastered grey, a dull and soulless grey like the atmosphere of the room, and was peeling off, showing the…wouldn't you know it - _grey_ bricks beneath. Upon the peeling _grey_ plaster was a horribly unimaginative _grey_ design that sparked no interest upon any onlookers…of the _grey_ wall.

Dante plonked on the _gre_-en (had you there) chair that was also peeling, showing the _grey_ padding beneath. At least the most of the chair was green.

Dante yawned and looked up at the clock…on the _grey_ wall. Broken. It still made an extremely annoying sound though, an incredible feat for a clock that looked as though someone had smashed a mallet into it - maybe the sound it used to make was more unbearably annoying?

Dante got up and searched the room for a remote for the TV, but found that there was none. He walked up to the TV and pressed the buttons.

Static.

Static.

The News - which suddenly became static.

What looked like a 50's movie - but it was hard to tell, the constant fuzzy sound coming from the speakers on the TV almost completely blocked out all sound.

Dante groaned and turned towards the coffeemaker.

Upon touching it, it exploded.

A slightly charred Dante then looked at the mini fridge. He opened it to find with delight that it was a drinks fridge - which was soon replaced with disappointment as he discovered that not one of the alcoholic beverages was distributed within the past ten years.

There was a whiskey there.

'_That stuff matures, doesn't it?' _he thought, reaching for it.

He sniffed it after opening it. It was old. Whiskey did indeed mature - and this one was obviously decades old.

He poured it down - half demons can handle extremely powerful alcohol easily.

But, he was disappointed immensely; although it was a whiskey bottle, there was no whiskey inside, just water that had long gone stagnant.

He spit it out onto the floor, along with some other contents of his stomach - that water was vile. He could have gotten typhoid or something from it. He peeked into the bottle and saw what looked like insects that were long dead in the drink. He got sick a second time upon finding the dead body of some form of vermin in the bottle.

He spent the next twenty minutes cleaning it up and clearing the smell. Even though it was the smell of sick, it was at least a _smell_ - before he had threw up on the floor, there was absolutely no smell at all in the abysmally dull room.

The door leading from the sun room opened, and Trish hurried in and shut the door after her, then leaned on it, relieved.

"How'd it go?" Dante asked dully.

Trish's face jerked upwards to face him, as if she just realised he was here. Stray hairs were separating from the rest of her head, giving her the immediate appearance of a lunatic. There were also a few going into her face, increasing this affect.

"If I hear the words 'in my day' _one_ more damned time, I swear…" she said hysterically, starting to strangle the air.

Dante chuckled and pushed her out of the way to go through the door.

"Trish?" he suddenly called out, his head appearing back from the door.

"What?!" she snapped.

"Have fun"

Before she could react, Dante slammed the door in her face.

It was fair to say that Dante was not greeted with enormous enthusiasm. The old people had long grown out of enthusiasm, instead resorting to the coldness and blackness that resided within their old, demented hearts. Yes, the old people had learned of _annoying memories that were pointlessly long_.

Fortunately, Dante had come prepared. Well, in a manner of speaking.

During his stay in the orphanage with Vergil, they had both managed to grow a resistance to yammering. For you see, the curator of the orphanage was an old fart. Literally. His hair was died a horrible brown, the same colour of his clothes (and he had the fashion sense of a fart as well, did I say that already?) and he stunk of baked beans and broccoli. A real, down to earth fart. What made things worse was the rather special noise his boots made when forced into contact with the ground, that sound something like '_pppttthhhhhh_'. The sound made by farts. But the important thing was that he lectured people when they committed misdeeds, and Vergil and Dante weren't exactly goody-two-shoes. They had developed an immunity to the repeated and pointless chatter the old fart managed to conjure.

Well, these old people were of a similar breed (not of farts, but of people that yammered a lot), and they had long prepared themselves of the leeching and sucking of the soul of the person that was next assigned to take care of them. It was from these souls that kept them alive, and made them more unbearably evil.

Back to the less than enthusiastic greeting.

A clock on the wall, and the occasional cough or flatulent noise (Or fart).

'…tic … …toc… …tic… … cough …tic … … _ppttthhhh _…toc … … tic … … tic… … tic-tic-tic…tic-tic-tic-tic … tic-BOOM'

The clock managed to explode, due to Dante's growing annoyance. Because of the demonic blood in his veins, he somehow blew up the clock, and caused some excitement in the room.

And strokes, by the look of it.

…

Ah, no, wait, they're okay.

And they're complaining. Whoop-de-friggin super.

Actually, Dante could not even tell whether it was actually words coming out of their wrinkled old lips, but some form of incoherent babbling. It was a montage of a language constructed from parts of ET's home language (that stupid little evil bastard scared me as a child) , the noise that sounds (incidentally) like farts, a dog barking, some wheezing sounds, and the noise made from a Blade with constipation.

"Youha shtupid geoddamne paunksh - me ticker wash goinna loiyke dah!" was what one of them wheezed.

Now, the same lovely translator that interpreted Big Al's speech in ch. 7 made sense out of that for all of you people at home. How nice of him. Apparently, it went something like this:

"You stupid goddamn punks - my ticker was going like that!"

Incredible smart man, that translator. Back to the story.

"Are… …are you okay?" Dante asked hesitantly. He hadn't even been on the job for a day, and he didn't plan on anything harmful happening to the old people (well, not _exactly_).

The old man looked both left and right, as if he was about to cross the road. After a thorough scan of the room, he was comforted with the fact that there were no 'geoddamne paunksh' in the vicinity. He then stared at Dante for a long while with a peculiar expression on his face, as if he could not quite tell if someone was there.

With inhuman eyes, Dante could see that the mans eyes were slightly fogged. Cataracts.

Dante sighed and walked away from the old man, who did not seem to realise that Dante had left. A few minutes later, the man shook his head. He had been seeing things. He thought that he had seen a man in red in front of him. Old mind playing tricks on him.

"HELLO?" an old lady half-screamed "I NEED ASSISTANCE!"

Dante suddenly appeared by her side. "Yes?"

"AH, THANK YOU!" the old lady exclaimed loudly. Dante flinched as his ears throbbed.

"YOU'LL HAVE TO EXCUSE ME!!" she stated "MY EARS AREN'T WHAT THEY USED TO BE!"

"Okay" Dante said a little louder. Apparently it wasn't loud enough.

"WHAT!?" she hollered.

Dante almost fell over.

"I SAID OKAY!!"

…

"DID YOU SAY SOMETHING, DEARIE?!"

"YES!"

"OH, YES, I NEED SOME ASSISTANCE WITH… … oh, where was I…" she trailed off, her voice quietening down as she tried remembering something.

Dante turned around, about to walk away, when the old deaf lady piped up again, and had apparently forgotten the past conversation.

"HELLO? I NEED SOME ASSISTANCE!"

"YEAH, WHAT, YOU OLD HAG?!!" Dante yelled, losing his patience.

Dante couldn't contain himself, it just slipped out. He flinched immediately, expecting the worst as soon as the words left his mouth. And it was at that moment when the old lady was able to hear him.

Her face went red as her eyes bulged.

"How _dare_ you!!" she said in an even _louder_ voice "In _my_ day we respected our elders, we would even…"

"yeah, yeah," Dante mumbled, knowing that if he didn't stop her now, he would have to stand through a long, long story "Sorry, what was it that you needed assistance for?"

* * *

Both Dante and Trish laboured all day over the old farts (Why is it that the word 'fart' seems to show up a lot lately?), never stopping or taking a break (as the only refuge from the work was the immensely dull staff room). Some of the old people were not as evil as the others, for instance; the man with cataracts, as he never really knew that you were there, so he couldn't call for anything. As far as he was concerned, the retirement home had yet to find someone to replace the old workers.

But, there was the other extremity. There was no middle in the 'bother' ranking in this retirement home. They were either angels or a bunch of flaming Phantoms, destroying whatever ounce of patience you once had.

A perfect example of this kind of old person was the almost-deaf lady, who never quite got over Dante yelling at her.

Even though Dante apologised, she still managed to go over her 'in _my_ days' story. She was at least on her fifth time so far. It turns out that every old person in this place has an 'in _my_ day' story of their own. Every single one of them pointless and boring.

But, as well as the 'extremely' annoying old people, there was the one that stood out from the others like an elephant in a matchbox.

His name was needlessly long, as he had won many titles in war, so neither of the two decided to call him by name. He was simply referred to as the 'WWII Guy'. The following is the tale that ruined Dante and Trish's sixth attempt to gain money.

* * *

"You're a whore…You're a whore"

Trish was getting more and more annoyed by the second as an old man's parrot squawked the words over and over again.

"Dreadfully sorry, m'girl!" stated the owner, an old WWII veteran "Don't know _where_ he got those words from!!"

Trish grumbled to herself as she received the dinner choices from the seniors. It was between Shepherds Pie and Roast Chicken. She knew full well that Parrots had to be taught words, or to overhear them to speak the words themselves.

The words had obviously originally came from the old soldier, talking about Trish..

Trish went to walk into the kitchen, when she was knocked over by old Bill, the drunk.

"Get off me!" she snapped, pushing him as she got to her feet.

Old Bill attempted an apology, but the alcohol distorted his words, making it into incoherent nonsense. The caretakers really didn't know where he got the beer from. He must have a stash of beer bottles somewhere. Whatever the case, he always had a bottle in his hand, and became violent when someone tried to take it away from him.

"You're a whore!" the parrot chirped enthusiastically.

Trish murmured profanities under her breath as she strolled into the kitchen. She'd make that parrot die, one way or other, eventually…

She stepped inside yet another dreary room, complete with grey wallpaper. The place smelled like Father Time's crack house, if there was such a thing, but of course there isn't (ahem).

She flicked on the oven to start it up. It would be around ten or so minutes before it was properly heated up. She sighed as she grabbed a decade-old magazine (which the front page boasted: Who is this New 'Ian Mckellen?' Find out inside!) and sat down on a gnarled old chair.

Five minutes of utter boredom pass.

"You're a whore! You're a whore!"

Trish jolted up. The damned bird had apparently escaped it's confinement and flew into the kitchen.

Her eyes immediately found the parrot perched on top of the counter. She let it be and started reading again. It wouldn't come to any harm. She felt her eyes getting heavier as she flipped over the page to read an article on 'the major increase in the price of telegraph messages lately'.

"You're a whore. You're a whore! YOU'RE A WHORE!" the parrot squawked, then suddenly raising it's pitch an octave.

Old Bill lurked in, clutching a large thermos of vodka, looking less than pleased.

"Wha'd you call me, you goddamn bird?!" he barked at the parrot.

"You're a whore?" the bird replied in a frightened tone.

Old Bill placed the Vodka on the counter and clumsily attempted to take a swing at the bird, which promptly flew off to Trish's shoulder. Trish jumped in shock, having been oblivious to the past few minutes (she had dozed off). Bill looked at her, then decided that it would be better not to try and beat up the bird while it was on Trish's shoulder.

"Yer lucky dah yer blonde 'un was there fer yeh, yeh stupid lih'il bugger…" he stated to the parrot, then he turned to the door and left, grumbling.

Trish looked at her watch. Oven should be heated by now. She sighed and got up and glared at the bird, which somehow took the hint that it had better leave it's resting spot.

She opened up the freezer, took out the breast of chicken and placed it in, then placed the shepherd's pie on a different shelf. She sighed and looked at her watch again.

No, the day hadn't magically passed away.

Then, something came to her attention. Something that would help all the boredom go away. A lone bringer of hope for the day, a saviour to her amusement. Yes, the thermos of vodka still lay on the counter.

Thanking whatever forces that was currently above, she grabbed it and drunk deeply, then plonked herself back on the chair, no longer feeling the need to read more about the happenings of decades ago.

_A long while later…_

The buzzer on the oven activated.

Once again, Trish jumped due to a cause of noise. She hiccupped as she check her watch again, but for some strange reason it was blurred to the point where it was a strange alien dialect written around the clock face. She flung open the door of the oven and took the chicken and shepherds pie out, and started to work on the vegetables. She grasped the amulet around her neck.

It really helped having the soul of a housewife around, especially when cooking needed being done.

She somehow now knew how to properly prepare vegetables in a suitable manner for old people.

Another while later, she handed them to Dante to serve. Thinking that the job was done for the day, she plonked herself back on the chair, which now had a print of her ass on it, then dozed off, snoring loudly.

After what seemed like barely ten seconds to her, Dante's head poked in through the empty doorframe.

"Hey, Speaking Beauty!"

Trish jumped in her chair, then eyed Dante with extreme annoyance. "The Term's 'sleeping beauty', you dolt, and what?!"

"Whatever. Old General guy never got any chicken. Demands that you make another full one so that he can have some."

"He wants a whole chicken?" Trish asked disbelievingly.

Dante shrugged. "Don't know what he's going to do with it all, he just wants it."

The head disappeared from behind the door.

Trish looked back and faced the oven, then sighed.

More cooking. Just great.

She took another gulp from the thermos and looked around the kitchen, everything suddenly seeming distorted.

She found to her amazement that another chicken breast was waiting for her on the counter.

She reached for it, but it somehow managed to peck her in defence.

She frowned. Chicken breasts didn't even have beaks. They were chopped off long before you could buy one.

She tried again, and grasped the lump of meat firmly in her hand, and sent a powerful wave of electricity into it. It let loose a horrible final squawk, then went silent. That should stop it from pecking her.

She shoved it into the oven and took another gulp of vodka. A feat that would have done severe damage to a human.

She turned to the chair again, and found to her delight that it had transformed into a comfortable-looking leather seat. Her eyes shut almost as soon as she sat down.

Minutes later, for the last time she woke from the chair, this time with a hangover.

"Ohhhhhh…" she groaned as she came to terms with where she was, and why she was there.

She very, very slowly got up, and stumbled over to the oven, and pulled out what she expected to be a chicken breast.

But, as luck would have it, she saw something completely different.

A charred dead parrot.

She gasped. She suddenly understood why that chicken had managed to peck her. It was the WWII guy's parrot, concealed behind her drunk eyes.

"Dante!" she screamed.

The red-clad devil hunter was at the door instantly.

"What is it?" he asked urgently "You sounded desperate."

She pointed at the parrot to reply.

Dante just stared at the blackened carcass for a while, looking slightly green.

There was a pause for a while.

"You know what this means…" Dante finally commented "… …we're going to lose our jobs again… …but…" he halted, a smirk spreading across his face, a smirk that Trish didn't like "…it's _your_ fault this time."

He suddenly started laughing, an evil sort of laugh that befitted the devil part of him.

"Stop it!" Trish moaned "This can't be happening, we just got this job…"

"Well, either we lose our jobs, or we get to see an old guy eat a parrot," Dante stated "Seems like a win-win situation if you ask me, 'cause you won't hear me complaining if we lose this job"

Trish thought about what Dante said for a while. Maybe the old guy wouldn't realise that he's eating his beloved parrot. Dinner time was directly after medication time. He could be really drugged up.

_Minutes Later…_

Dante walked into the dining area pushing a cart with a silver platter on it. He passed by the tables, until he came to the old WWII veteran, then delicately took the platter off, showing the dead parrot beneath.

The man said nothing, merely looking at his meal with an odd expression.

Dante scooped up the dead parrot and placed it on the guy's plate.

The guy merely stared at it for another while, silently.

"_Bon apetit" _Dante declared.

The guy stared at the parrot for another while.

Dante cursed inwardly. The guy knew full well that his parrot lay before him.

"Is that…" he managed to whisper, barely audible "Is that my dear Paul?"

"…_bon apetit_?" Dante repeated.

The man's face seemed to swell, and go red rapidly.

"You…You killed Paul…you _killed Paul_…"

A nearby nurse called over.

"He's not supposed to get angry! He has a heart complaint!"

"A what?" Dante exclaimed. He looked at the old guy, who suddenly clasped his hand to his chest "Ah, damn it."

* * *

Needless to say, the man got landed in hospital, and Dante and Trish had to pay compensation.

The conversation explaining this to Harrington was not a happy one.

"Let me get this straight, Mr. Sparda… you got fired by trying to feed a pensioner his parrot, which you killed and cooked in the oven?"

Dante sat with a grim face in front of Harrington, with his arms crossed defensively.

"That's the general idea, yeah."

Harrington put his fingers to his eyes in irritation.

"Mr. Sparda, are you _trying_ to do this? Are you trying to repeatedly get a job, then lose it within the next few hours? Or, are you just a natural?"

Dante remained silent, like an unruly schoolboy before his headmaster.

"Have you tried getting a job that doesn't involve much communication with others? Your downfall seems to narrow down to losing patience with others. And I strongly recommend contacting a therapist after this last feat."

Dante came to full alertness suddenly.

"I don't need a shrink! I'm fine!"

Harrington looked at him sympathetically, almost pitying him.

"I wouldn't say so, Mr. Sparda. As far as I know, you were raised in an orphanage. Maybe the loss of parents…"

"_I'm fine_!" Dante repeated, only louder. Harrington had touched a nerve. "And I can take whatever job I damn well please! My communication skills are _fine_!"

Harrington studied him for a while, only feeling more strongly that Dante needs a therapist.

He reached across his desk and took out a log-book, and searched through it for a while. After finding what he was looking for, he ripped a piece of paper out and scribbled a phone number on it, then handed it to Dante.

"Here. Just do me a favour, then, and give this guy a single try. You only have to go once. It's just a favour."

"But I don't need a shrink!" Dante said loudly.

Harrington never answered to this, and merely showed Dante out. Dante stood at the door for a while.

"… … …I don't need a shrink…"

He then fell back into his haughty tone, suddenly sounding like Vergil.

"I am of high blood and lineage, I don't need a shrink…"

* * *

_Joe: Sorry, that last bit was a little boring. But, I hadn't put Harrington in any chapters for a while, and decided it best to put him back in._

_Review, please._

_Oh, and could you all look into that action fic of mine, if you get the time?_

"_The Justice Within Two Evils", it's called (And any ideas for a new name are welcome)._

_I know you all like action, Devil May Cry is an action game._

_Well, whether or not I update soon, I will update. And, I think the next one will have Dante as a door-to-door salesman._

_Ciao._


	11. Stick To Your Day Job 4

_Disclaimer:- Anything that's copyrighted and is featured in this fic is not owned by me. Anything that's not copyrighted, I'll claim for my own, and sue you all to hell. That is, if I manage to figure out how copyright law works. And, I wouldn't hold your breath if I were you._

_Joe: You'll get a nice surprise when the chapter starts. What is the surprise?_

_Ah, see, that'd be telling. You'll find out. The only hint I'm giving is that it concerns the main character._

_On another note, you'll notice that I'm not updating this regularly. I'm really just adding something when an idea pops up somehow in my head. If there's no update for ages, don't worry. If I'm going to stop, I'll tell you._

_Oh, and this one's kinda long, for a treat. But, then again, the last one was pretty long too… I spoil you lot, you know that? _

_By the way, I woukd've had this up earlier, but the documents thingie wouldn't upload the chapter when I first tried to put it up, a day or two ago._

_So, away we go._

* * *

**Ch 11: Stick To Your Day Job 4**

The interviewer raised her eyebrows at the sight of the CV she had just received. She then cast her gaze at the figure sitting before her, for confirmation that he was real.

"Mr…Sparda?" she asked, her voice quavering.

She was a small woman, in her mid-fifties, with coloured brown hair and thick glasses.

"Is there a problem?" the man asked calmly. He then put a hand to his forehead to brush away a rogue strand of platinum hair that had gotten into his eyes.

"No, it's nothing…" the lady said "…strange name you have. Your first name."

The man blinked.

"Well… …I think my father named me after a famous figure in literature… I never asked…"

The lady looked up at him again, her eyebrows still raised, trying to hide the fact that this man intimidated her somehow. She tried to compliment him.

"It's a nice name anyway. Very unique."

The man made no reply and took to staring out the window with boredom. He took a sudden extreme interest in a fly caught in a spider's web. A grim smile spread across his face as he watched the spider creep up to the helpless, yet not motionless victim.

"Mr - Mr. Sparda?!" the old lady pressed.

"Hm?" he turned to her with a swiftness that hinted that he had forgotten that she was there.

"You have the qualifications for the job, at least-"

The son of Sparda suppressed a snort. There _weren't_ any qualifications. He had signed up to help a group of inexperienced builders build a block of houses.

"But-"

"_But?_"

"Not to worry," she said, feigning a smile "It's just that there are no notes from any previous employer. You said you had one. I'll just need to ring up and receive a comment from them."

The once immaculately calm and collected man suddenly lost himself. His forehead started producing an extensive amount of sweat, and he started fidgeting.

"Have you any problem with that?" the lady asked patiently.

"Uh…no," he responded.

"Alright then. I'm afraid that you may have to dial the number for me, I don't know it."

The man reached over to the phone, and started to dial rapidly.

The lady frowned. The man seemed to be dialling an awful lot of numbers.

"Mr. Sparda, are you sure-?"

"No, it's correct," he announced before she could finish.

Thirty numbers later, the man handed the receiver to the old lady.

_Somewhere in the Underworld-_

In an immense skyscraper, a phone rang.

A female demon with an incredibly large head and three rows of eyes turned to pick it up. The three rows of eyes were divided in pairs, and in a vertical line, all of the pairs bespectacled, giving her the immediate impression of a secretary.

"Conquest ltd., Madelia Wallace here, how may I be of service?"

"Er…" the old lady replied as she looked at a name on a sheet with a bemused expression "I need to speak to Mr. Mundus. I need a comment from him for Mr. Sparda's CV. I am currently interviewing him for a job."

"Sure thing, hon, just hang on a sec," the demon replied in a nasally voice that might have belonged to a human, then she placed a talon on a button on the phone, putting the lady on hold.

In Mundus' office, his phone rang.

The giant emperor of evil placed his gargantuan hand on the receiver and lifted it up to his head, two stories above.

"**Yes, what is it, Madelia?**" he inquired in his loud, booming voice.

"Call from the human world, sir-"

"**WHAT?!"** Mundus hollered. Outside, the birds flying around the building popped like grapes, and the alarms in several cars outside went off.

"**How could a human get our number? And how could they possibly know the area code to call here?**"

"Uh…the lady said that she was interviewing Nelo, and she needs a comment from you, as his past employer."

"**Why would she call this place for a mere interview comment, with the price of calls from _this_ distance? It would be hundreds!"**

There was a pause on the other side of the line, Madelia seemed to be taking in a deep breath to prepare herself for the reply she knew she would receive.

"…Uh…it's a collect call, sir."

She hurriedly pulled the phone away from her ear to save herself from deafness. She didn't need the phone, as his response could be clearly heard through the walls.

"**AAAAARGH! HOW _DARE_ THEY! LUCIFER KNOWS WHAT THE SIZE OF THE PHONE BILL WILL BE! I NEED A LAWYER, I'LL SUE THEIR ASSES FROM HERE TO…. …well, here, I suppose."**

Mundus stood up and stomped over to the large window that covered an entire wall of his office. He slammed open the window (causing it to smash into countless pieces) and looked down into a plaza of Hell, the capital city of the Underworld, and he yelled down to any of it's inhabitants that happened to be below.

"**IS ANYBODY HERE A LAWYER?"**

Unsurprisingly, every demon within earshot raised their hand, along with their pet human soul (_hey, this is Hell_), and their children, who were playing by the lava fountain in the centre of the plaza.

Mundus blinked.

"**Ah, screw it.**"

Eventually, Mundus calmed down and got back on the phone and was put on with the old lady.

"Mr…Mundus, am I to assume?" the old lady asked.

Across from her, Vergil resumed fidgeting. If this lady only knew who she was addressing…

"**You assume correct. I AM MUNDUS, EMPEROR OF-" **Mundus stopped himself, realising that he was talking to a human "**…of, er…Conquest ltd. How may I help you?"**

"Yes, I need a comment from you for the CV of Mr. Vergil Sparda. I am interviewing him for a job."

"**Oh…is that right?"** Mundus said casually, a sinister smile spreading across his face. He had no current plans for world domination, or of any revenge schemes. But, he may as well take any chance he could get to make the sons of Sparda's lives a living hell.

"**Nelo-I mean, Vergil…hmm…**_" _he paused for effect, making it look like he was trying to remember the person in question.

"**Ah, yes, Ms. Sparda. She's a transvestite, if I remember correctly.**"

"Righ-_what?!_"

Mundus put his hand on the phone to allow himself to give an evil chuckle.

"**Yes. Bisexual also. Had to fire her because of her continued relations in the office, with both male and female members.**"

Vergil looked uneasily at the expression on the lady's face. He couldn't hear what Mundus was saying, but the old lady seemed to be liking what she heard. Could Mundus possibly be trying to keep his relations good? Giving the old lady a positive account of his previous work seemed highly unlikely, but it looked like it was happening right now.

"**I'd be careful with her, if I were you. She tended to try and get me into bed numerous times.**"

"Is that right?" the old lady said with a smile, turning to look at Vergil.

Vergil grinned at her, thinking it may boost his chances of getting a job. If he knew what the old lady was hearing, his face would be a completely different one.

The old lady giggled at him.

Vergil blinked, then gave a hesitant grin.

He had no idea what his grin had implicated, and he was more than unnerved when the old lady winked at him.

"**I hope my account was helpful to you. Good day,**" Mundus stated, closing the conversation, then hanging up.

His smile was still spread across his face, and was showing no signs of leaving. He may not get a chance to kill the sons of Sparda at present, but, he may as well prevent them from living properly.

Mundus opened his mouth wide and let loose a loud torrent of evil laughter.

Little did he know that he had actually just given Vergil his job. The old lady, it seemed, was a creepy old pervert.

* * *

"Alright, let's take a look at all of you…" the foreman exclaimed as he strode along his new men, who were arranged in a line for inspection.

He was a tall white man of strong build. Dark stubble lined his chin, and he wore his yellow helmet. A lit cigar rested in his mouth.

He walked along the line slowly, only stopping to reprimand a man who was picking his nose.

But, when he came up to Vergil, he stopped rather abruptly. It wasn't that he heard the story given by Mundus, the old lady hadn't said anything about _that_. Vergil supposed it was about his hair. It attracted a lot of attention. He was used to it.

"Where do you think you are?" the foreman asked him sternly, but with a smirk on his face "Dressed like a Matrix wannabe"

Several people in the line snickered, then stood still after the foreman turned to glare at them.

Vergil didn't reply, but just stared silently at the foreman, looking deep into his eyes. The foreman looked back into Vergil's uneasily, disturbed by this man's silence and his staring.

Then, the foreman's eyes crossed, and his mouth lolled open, tongue sagging out.

Nobody noticed Vergil's eyes flash blue.

"Never mind." the foreman said in a monotone, then turned rather awkwardly to continue down the line.

He tripped over his own feet after three steps. And didn't stop trying to walk, his legs moving into the air, then descending to cut into the ground.

Vergil blinked, then put on a confused face to mimic the rest of the line.

After a man helped the foreman up, and after a failed attempt of the foreman to give a recount of what happened to him, the meeting proceeded.

They all received a copy of the blueprints for the kind of house that they would be building.

"Alright, now that you've got an idea for what you're gonna build, let's get you assigned into groups," the foreman announced.

He turned to leave and then he headed towards the building where the men had been interviewed. After a while, he returned, with a small group of men and women, around 7 in number.

The newcomers were split into groups, each of the 7 people acting as a sort of leader, being experienced.

Vergil and several other men were assigned to a balding man in his mid-thirties. The man's remaining hair was greyish-brown, and he was cleanly shaved.

"Alright, guys," he exclaimed to them brightly, his voice slightly boyish and a pitch or two higher than an average man "We're to start on houses 25 to 30 for the next while!"

His enthusiasm was not shared by the newcomers, who stared blankly at him. The man who was reprimanded for picking his nose earlier proceeded to do so again.

The man's attention directed itself to Vergil all of a sudden. Feeling that a smart comment would make the newcomers like him better, he chose to insult Vergil.

The son of Sparda in question gave the man a funny look, as he had been staring at him for about half a minute now, deep in thought.

"Where do you think you are?" he finally exclaimed loudly "You look like a Matri-"

"It's been said," Vergil interrupted.

"Oh…" the man murmured, disappointed.

Cue silence.

…

"Well…well, your hair's funny!" the man announced loudly, then bursting into laughter at his own joke, attempting to spur the rest of the group into joining him.

Vergil was thunderstruck, his mouth agape in horror as he stared at the man in shock.

If there was one thing that Vergil could not withstand, it was an insult directed at his hair. His fists were trembling, along with his bottom lip, but he remained silent, merely glaring at the man with all of his might.

Unfortunately for the group leader, nobody laughed with him, the insult being unnecessarily mean. The man shrugged it off and pointed to where they would be working, and where they would now go to get their materials, and the machinery they would be using.

As the others left, Vergil stood rooted to the spot. He was scheming, trying to think up what he would do to the man for _daring_ to insult _the hair_.

Upon reaching a decision, Vergil jogged to catch up with the rest. Nobody noticed his eyes flash blue.

Nothing noticeable happened, and they went to get some shovels. They would be manually digging to make foundations for the buildings, all of which would have a basement.

The day after, the leader would discover some bloody mush in his pants. Not only that, but his genitals had been switched to those of a woman. He would develop a large interest in shoes, and an even bigger interest in men…

But for the time being, he didn't notice, and they set to work.

* * *

"Excuse me, but that's _my_ shovel you're using," Vergil said to a large, muscular man.

"No, it 'aint," the man gruffly responded, drawing himself to his full height, which counted up to be a head taller than Vergil "S'mine now. Get your own."

Vergil had picked a shovel around his own height, and laid it down to go to the toilet. When he returned, he found the man with the shovel, and that's when we came in.

"Use mine," he flung a nearby shovel at Vergil, who caught it in one hand. It was a rusted thing, about half Vergil's height, but, more importantly, missing the actual shovel at the end of the pole.

The man turned around to continue working, and didn't notice Vergil snap it in half between his thumb and his forefinger.

"Well, it was mine first. I suggest you give it back," he stated to the man's back.

The man flipped Vergil off as a response. Vergil closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, then said;

"Give it back. Now."

The man went to face Vergil, sneering.

"Or what?!" he challenged, pushing the shorter, and therefore supposedly weaker man.

Vergil promptly turned him into a shovel, and set to work.

* * *

The foundation of the first building was finished surprisingly quick, within an hours work. The group leader happily stated that it must be a record. He then said that they would change the schedule to work one house at a time, rather than do all the foundations, then the frames, etc..

So it was that they set to work on the frame of the first house.

They were instructed to get girders from a heap to the house, then arrange the girders in the fashion outlined in the blueprints they were given.

When they got to the girders, everybody apart from Vergil stood back to look at them.

The girders were huge. Each was several feet taller than the tallest man (Who, incidentally, is now a shovel), and pretty thick stumps of metal they were, as well.

Several of the men went back to get some forklift trucks from the warehouse, and some to operate the cranes that were scattered around the site for the builders use.

Vergil, however, forgot about the whole being subtle with his differences thing, and didn't see the others hang back. He walked up to the nearest girder, bent down, and with a heave, picked it up, then turned to take it to the site.

He froze upon seeing the expressions of his fellow builders, each one of them frozen to the spot, and their jaws dropped as far as nature allowed. He then realised that he was holding a steel girder that would crush the life out of any human that tried to hold it.

"Ehh……" Vergil tried to say something that would make everything make sense to the builders. But, there were no words that would have such an effect.

Instead, he hit them over the head with the girder, one by one, knocking them unconscious, then placed it down, back in the pile. He lay down on the ground with the others after that, and closed his eyes.

About ten minutes later, some of the others arrived with forklift trucks. Vergil rose, rubbing his head and groaning.

One of the men was immediately at his side.

"What the hell happened?" he asked worriedly.

"I-I don't know…" Vergil answered, his voice a weak murmur "I thought that…but, no, it couldn't have………"

He didn't make it any clearer than that.

When the others arose, they were going to tell the strange story of what happened. But, when they heard that Vergil was knocked unconscious as well, they went into silence, nonplussed.

The matter was dismissed, but not cleared, and they brought the required girders to the site.

* * *

It was lunch time. The girders were all in place, as they were speedily put together. The group leader said that he had never seen a better working group. Little did he know that it was all thanks to the rapid work of an inhuman being in the group.

The house they were working on currently was at the very edge of the construction site, which happened to be just out of town. People were seen walking by the site constantly.

The builders were sitting on the girders with their meals, talking animatedly, and occasionally shouting catcalls at any attractive women that walked by below.

Vergil however, always the different one, continued working by himself, having no meal to eat, nor any money to buy a meal with.

The house they were on could be seen clearly by any passers by.

After a minute or two, a crowd of giggly women in their mid-twenties walked by during their lunch-break (hey, this _is_ the DMC fandom, there's no shortage of them) to see if any of the builders met their interest criteria as attractive.

Their eyes reached the lone worker among the builders, although there were plenty other muscle-bound builders there.

Vergil, to their delight, had taken his coat and shirt off earlier due to the constant work under the summer sun.

Ignoring the catcalls from the other builders, they waved and screeched to get this builder's attention.

Such a din was clearly heard up on the girders, especially to inhuman ears. Vergil turned to look at the source of the racket.

The girls continued waving and screeching 'yoo-hoos!' at him. If it were possible for him to, he would have blushed.

He stepped away from his work to step forward to get a better view of the women, but he slipped during the process.

With a shriek of irritation rather than fear, he plummeted to the ground from the second story.

Onto the space where the builders had left their shovels stacked upwards, in a container.

Vergil landed hard on them, the tips of the shovels going into his bare back. You can imagine the pain of being impaled by such blunt objects.

Vergil went right through the shovels, blood pouring out of him. He was silent, his eyes still open.

There was a silence. Everybody nearby staring at Vergil in shock, the women feeling immediately guilty.

But, suddenly, Vergil's voice cut through the silence.

"Oww…. … shit…"

Yes, such was his pain that a profanity escaped from the mouth of Vergil, a clean mouthed, uptight man.

But, the onlookers were not concerned with Vergil's curse word, but rather that he was still conscious, let alone alive.

Vergil's eyes snapped open to full attention, and he realised how this must look.

He sighed, knowing that there was no way out of this. Too many witnesses.

Having no other way out, Vergil did the only thing that he could think of.

A blue sphere of light erupted from his body, and his skin was replaced by scales, his hands replaced by claws, his teeth turning into fangs, and I don't need to tell you the rest, you surely all know it yourselves.

He heaved, and he fell to the ground. He paused for a second, then yanked the shovels that were still embedded in him out.

He then yelled for all to hear:

"**I AM THE SPAWN OF HELL, CROSS ME AND DIE, YOU PUNY MORTALS!!"**

He stylishly, yet elegantly, ran vertically up the steel girder to retrieve his shirt and coat, which, upon being placed on his body, seemed to become part of him. After taking a last look at his awestruck audience (the few that had not already fainted were gawking at him, not daring to stop him or get in his way), then he leaped off the girder, over the fence of the construction site, then ran for it.

"**Ugh…**" he muttered to himself as he ran down the street, people around him screaming and pointing (assuming they hadn't fainted) "**that's the third time this week…**"

* * *

_Joe: Okay, okay, it wasn't as long as the last one, but it's the second longest one._

_I just decided before writing this chapter; hang on, what about Vergil?_

_I suppose he's dead in the storyline, but not here._

_And, I guess he shouldn't be able to do half of the things I made him do, but I couldn't help._

_Oh, and I'm still open to suggestions. If they don't make it as a whole chapter, I'll still probably shove them in somehow._

_Ciao._


	12. The Office

_Disclaimer: God I'm sick of this. This damn fricking disclaimer. You know, where you have to repeatedly announce that you have no worldly possessions. I do of course own some things, but you don't normally see that in disclaimers. Mainly it's just "I don't own anything". So, to ration what is left of my dignity, here's my new disclaimer: __Anything here __**that belongs to somebody else**__ is not owned by me. I do, however, have the pride in saying that I own quite a nice computer here. And my other possessions are literally sprawled around the place. I do not mean to suggest that I am below the poverty line, like I do in most disclaimers, because that would just be pure disrespectful to those that actually are. Seriously. Think about it. There are some people out there that have to use __**Macs**__. I'm not joking. Gromit and I should set up a charity, providing PCs to the unfortunate. Screw world hunger. Actually, scratch that, that's horrible. We will also provide M&Ms to them. And coffee. Both of which, I have to mention are absolutely fantastic. Who needs a balanced diet when you have both caffeine and sugar?_

_Joe: Okay, that's sorted with._

_I'd like to thank everybody who reviewed, and for all of your patience. But then again, I doubt it really matters whether or not this piece of crap gets updated. And thank you for all of your suggestions. I mean it, there really are loads of good ideas. I mean, people suggested that Dante work in an orchestra, Vergil as a tourist guide, and that Trish take part in a beauty/talent pageant. This is only a few, forgive me for not mentioning the others._

_You can't help but laugh at how you'd imagine these scenarios might turn out._

_Keep them coming, I've dedicated chapters to those suggestions which I thought were outstanding. Not that the others aren't, I'm not done with this fic yet, so have patience. There's also the possibility that I have an idea of my own that needs out. The rest will come in time._

_I know I have a reputation for long authors notes (or is that Gromit? Damn it, even __I'm__ starting to have difficulty figuring out which one I am), so I'm just going to cut the crap and get on with it._

_sorry, just one last note, on this chapter. Well, there's a TV show called 'The Office'. There's actually two (that I've heard of so far). Both completely different. One is from the UK and masterminded by a comedian known as Ricky Gervais, the US version, you've probably all heard or seen of (You know, your man from the 40 year old virgin is in it. At least I think it's him.) So then, on that note, I thought; '_what about a DMC adaptation?

* * *

_**Financial Diaries of a Devil Hunter**_

_**Ch. 12: The Office**_

**THUMP!!**

"_**AAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHH**_!"

People in the shopping mall were starting to become accustomed to these two noises. They had been reoccurring, rather insistently, for the past half hour, each time as mind-numbingly loud as the last.

One walking into the shopping mall via the entrance might be put off by these loud smacking noises and shrieks of anguish, and wonder what sort of sick, demented show the people who ran this mall were running.

A further inspection would reveal a queue that was swiftly decreasing in size. Not only by the occupants of the queue actually reaching their destination, but by people worriedly exiting it halfway through waiting in it.

If this person would delve further along the mall, they would find a strange man dressed in red leather, sitting on a chair beside a crudely built wooden stand, stating in badly painted words; "_UNDEFEATED! BEAT THE AMAZING DANTE IN AN ARM WRESTLE AND WIN ALL THE MONEY ON THE TABLE! __**5 DOLLAR MATCH**_!"

And what a tempting offer this was, considering the vast amount of cash that was on the table. The amazing Dante in question was smirking steadily at his approaching victims, his right sleeve pulled up, displaying an arm with a modest amount of muscle. Not too much, you would be frankly honest.

And if this person would take his/her chances with the amazing Dante, s/he would be greatly surprised by the strength of this Dante, amazing indeed.

If this person was one of the 3 out of 5 people that could not believe what had happened and demanded a rematch, the amazing Dante would merely tap another sign that the person had somehow missed up to that point, stating;

"**_20 DOLLAR REMATCH_**"

If this person was one of the 1 out of 3 people that demanded a rematch and who persisted, s/he would slam 20 onto the table, and would be defeated again.

There was one poor soul who would not accept defeat, and emptied his wallet and bank account on account of this game (Dante accepted cheques).

However, the amazing Dante would soon be given quite a shock.

In the form of a diversionary ploy utilised by two young women.

One of them entered the queue, a brunette of about 25 years of age, and breasts of about 2 months old, thanks to modern medicine. Modern silicone, to be fully truthful.

She approached the stand with (an extremely well acted) a slight amount of hesitancy, and a coy smile at the amazing Dante, and a request that Dante "Go easy on her".

The amazing (yet now, slightly weakened, a fair bit of the blood in his arm departing to more tropical areas of the body) Dante would smile just as coyly back, then extend his arm and glove her hand with his.

He allowed her a few seconds of light pushing, so as not to insult her strength, then gently forced her arm downwards.

When her hand had lightly tapped the table, he winked at her and raised his hand again, his palm facing upwards, signalling that she pay him.

The woman tilted her head to one side and sweetly asked him where the rest of his money had gone.

Dante swiftly turned his head to where his hoard of cash had previously been.

"_**AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!**_"

This time, the noise did not come from a man with a damn near broken arm, but from the amazing Dante himself. He turned to the woman, but she was gone.

* * *

Dante, no longer considered 'amazing' by anybody save his loyal DMC fans, but, for his own health of mind, we won't reveal ourselves to him. The man has enough problems as it is, without realising that he is a figment of Capcoms' imagination.

Anyway, Dante was lying on his couch, his hands covering his face.

Trish was leaning on the back of the couch, frowning. She was unsure whether to scold him or not, for the same reasons that we keep the fourth wall intact.

Instead, she politely inquired;

"A hot woman ruined you - _again?_"

Dante flinched and Trish immediately felt bad.

Trish, leaving Dante to wallow in self-pity, then directed her attention around the kitchen/sitting room upstairs from the office.

The place was in a mess.

The microwave had been truly and utterly destroyed, the glass on it broken, explained by the dented spatula protruding from it.

Smoke bellowed from the fridge, oddly enough.

The coffee maker was filled with a sinister-looking blue substance that growled at people who approached it.

The oven was miraculously still in working order, but was made redundant by the fridge in terms of cooking food.

Something was in the washing machine that shouldn't be there, as any articles of clothing that were placed in it came out covered in filth.

The TV still operated properly, so Dante and Trish were still grasping onto their sanity. However, the aerial that had originally been on it had long been eaten by a cup of coffee that Dante had placed near it. Dante, luckily, had not taken a sip yet, and poured the coffee hurriedly back into it's maker.

In place of the aerial, now resided the toaster, with two knives sticking upwards from the two holes.

Also, in full honesty, Dante wasn't actually lying on a couch. A section of the sitting room floor had somehow gone septic, and grown strange, fluffy spores that were actually quite comfortable to sit on.

They were also a constant source of mushrooms, which had become the primary diet of the devil and the half-devil. A human would have vomited it's entire innards out by now, it's body unable to cope.

Back to the story, Trish had stated that a "hot woman ruined him - _again_". The truth of this was that Dante had indeed been foiled by sharp-minded, yet soft-featured, women.

The last time, he had set up a stall for kisses, as he had done when he was younger. He was rather enjoying it, until two women had stolen from him. Incidentally, it was the same pair as the ones who had stolen from his arm-wrestling stand, but the two had swapped places so as not to arouse suspicion - but still to arouse _something._

The time before that, he had tried making ends meet as a taxi driver, but you don't even want to _know_ what happened there. It involves a taxi car, of course, a cat, some slippery roads, a hot woman, an empty bucket of paint for some reason, and the side of a building. I won't insult your intelligence by saying that you can't guess what happened.

"Dante…" Trish said quietly "…things have really gotten bad."

Without moving his hands from his hands, Dante responded.

"I know Trish, I know…we're barely paying the rent and the phone bill…the only reason we still have electricity is because of Alastor -"

He raised one of his hands to gesture towards the sword of lightning, which was inserted into the main fuse.

" -and…well…just _look_ at the clothes you have to wear at the moment…"

"Dante, these are my regular clothes."

Pause.

"Oh."

Indeed, as you'll have noticed in the previous chapters, Trish's dress sense attracted a lot of the wrong type of people.

"Anyway," Trish continued "…when was the last time you talked with Harrington?"

Dante sat up.

"Harrington? Ah, never mind him, he was never of any help before…besides, financial advice costs money. A good deal of money, actually."

"Dante, he's never charged you before."

"That's neither here nor there."

Trish sighed and put her fingers to her eyes.

"Okay. If you're not going then I will."

Dante fell off the couch (well, the spores that had grown to about a foot above the ground).

"No! - er, no, I mean, don't you worry about it, I'll sort this out" he said quickly.

Trish raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"Why can't I come?"

Dante looked her up and down, taking particular note of the tight leather broken-heart top she was wearing.

"Well, don't take this personally…but, well…"

"Yes?" Trish pressed him on, her eyes flashing dangerously, and her tone that threatening one that makes husbands worldwide nod sympathetically at Dante. Even though Dante was not married, it still affected him, and he quailed under her stare.

"nuh…nothing. You can come with me if you want" Dante finished pathetically as he picked himself up from the floor.

Trish smiled and Dante was let off the hook.

"Good. Get your coat."

* * *

The pair were seated before Harrington's desk in his office.

Harrington had changed quite a bit. He had discovered hair dye, and the grey roots were missing from his hair. He had apparently just returned from a vacation in the Bahamas, and his skin had bronzed nicely.

He was therefore in a good mood, which was good news for the two.

"Mr. Sparda. It's been a while," Harrington said, extending an arm.

Dante accepted it.

Harrington turned to Trish. He blinked before offering her his hand.

"…Mrs. Sparda, am I to assume?"

Dante coughed loudly and fell from his chair. Harrington ignored him.

Trish answered that she was not Dante's wife (a little more quickly than necessary), and the meeting began.

"er…Harrington?" Dante began, rather timidly. Harrington nodded. "Do you remember our first meeting, when I wanted a loan?"

"Vividly. And I'm not giving you one now." Harrington replied simply.

"Well, I was thi- what?"

"Mr. Sparda, you still do not have the assets required to repay a loan of any sort. You are in the same financial position you were back then."

Dante shook his head.

"Not true. I've been trying - _we've_ been trying-" he quickly said after catching Trish's expression "really hard to make ends meet. You wouldn't _believe_ some of the things we've had to do…"

Harrington eyed Trish for a moment.

"…I can see that, Mr. Sparda…I sympathise…I never thought that things were this dire for you…" he said pitifully. Neither of them got what he had just deduced.

"I'll see what I can do for you…"

Harrington then started typing frantically on his keyboard.

Dante gritted his teeth and Trish's fingers drummed the arm of her chair.

Harrington stopped typing for a moment and he creased his brow at whatever was on the monitor. He then typed for some more, then he nodded slightly at the monitor, the sides of his lips twitching.

"Mr. Sparda…"

"Yes?" Dante asked a little cautiously.

"…there _is_ something I can do for you. I was thinking that all of the jobs that you've…_failed_ in so far were all manual jobs. Have you considered a clerical job yet?"

"You want Dante to be a _priest_?" Trish spurted in disbelief.

"Not quite, Ms. Trish. I mean office work," Harrington replied patiently "There are quite a few openings at the bank here, in the offices. They are really very straightforward jobs."

Dante narrowed his eyes, tilted his head, and extended his lower lip as he pondered this.

"Sure," he finally said "What the hell."

"Excellent," Harrington announced, smiling "I'll send a message downstairs. I'd say you and I will be seeing a lot more of each other, Mr. Sparda - and Ms. Trish."

Trish opened her mouth, thinking of suggesting that it was rather ignorant of Harrington to assume that she accepted the job, but thought better of it.

* * *

Dante was marched through a seemingly endless labyrinth of cubicles, water dispensers, and printers. It was really all very depressing. The old man leading him looked like he was lost himself, but Dante figured that he always looked that way.

Dante swallowed and his neck chafed against his shirt collar. He was surprised when Trish excavated into his wardrobe and found a smart business suit. He wasn't aware that he had anything that wasn't red. Well, at least his tie was.

As he passed cubicles, sullen looking people gaped at him with empty, cold eyes, and sunken faces. It was like staring into the eyes of an enemy marionette, but one wearing a tie.

A water dispenser approached, and Dante could see a trio of workers standing by it. One of them, a twenty-something year old wearing a ridiculous tie that was attempting to be funny, much like it's owner. He said something so monotonous that Dante's system barely registered it. It was a joke, for lack of a better term, and Dante damn near felt pain by just being near this man. Yet, the other two chuckled and informed the man that he should do stand-up. The man exposed a large pair of front teeth as he guffawed and rolled his eyes to heaven, as if he got this a lot, all the while looking absolutely thrilled with himself.

Dante suppressed a gasp. How was it that the office managed to suck the souls of it's employees, to the point where they no longer recognised humour, yet managed to keep the employee's host body (barely) animate?

One more demon that Dante swore upon Sparda (lightning flashes outside) that he would vanquish. Right after his first few pay checks, of course.

"Here we are…" the old man in front finally said as he jerked to a halt. Dante nearly stumbled into him "You're sharing a cubicle with another new employee."

"Right, yeah," Dante murmured distractedly. He was still preoccupied with pondering how the office sucked the souls of it's employees, and which devil in upper management was in charge of storing these souls.

He sat down at his desk, and the other man in the cubicle was also too preoccupied to acknowledge any stimulus, and disregarded Dante as he scribbled furiously at what didn't look like office work, but blueprints of some ingenious device…

Dante thought back on the subject of which officer in the business was in charge of sucking the souls of the employees. It must be the one called the 'human resources manager', he deducted. It must be! Using humans as resources! That's what the demons were doing!

Almost exactly like that _Matrix_ movie Dante had watched, except, instead of hooking humans up to intricate machines, the demons just used desks to keep the humans busy while the demons sucked their souls and used them as resources!

Dante jerked to sudden awareness and scanned his surroundings, looking for any nearby piece of office equipment that could possibly be used as a possible demon soul-sucking implement.

It was at this time that Dante noticed his co-worker, who also noticed Dante at the same time. The two jumped to their feet.

There was a strange moment when both of these men stared at each other uncertainly.

For a few seconds, each man thought he was looking at his reflection. His hand would dart up to his hair to try and fix it, then the man would frown and wonder why the reflection was fixing his hair in the exact opposite fashion as he himself was trying to do.

Then, each man jumped again and reached for their waist, then they both grunted in annoyance as their fingers grasped thin air.

Instead, Dante and Vergil merely glared at each other.

* * *

Trish's day was going fairly well, by her usual standards.

The work she was being assigned was simple. She would dart to and from executives and other high-up workers' offices, providing coffee. It was an important task, she was told. When the executives stopped drinking coffee, bad things happened, apparently.

Also, since she was made wear a uniform, she finally started to attract the kind of person that actually qualifies as a person. One such man was John, the human resources manager of this branch.

Nice guy, she thought happily as she strolled through the cubicle labyrinth, to the coffee maker, an empty mug in her hand as she returned from John's office. _He_ didn't stare at her chest as the usual crowd did, but at her face, which delighted Trish endlessly. He made her laugh, and was actually fairly handsome. Well, Dante was sort of handsome, and _did_ make her laugh, but that was generally because he was getting himself hurt in some shape or form.

She walked into the place she worked in. There was a coffee maker, as you would expect, a couple of filing cabinets and boxes, and the photocopier/scanner that all of the lower-down workers had to use. _John_ had his own though, so he would never came to call.

Trish was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn't notice the person standing by the printer as she made some coffee.

Vergil stared at the back of Trish's head uneasily. He recognised her from Mundus' service.

Vergil had left the cubicle, under pretence that he was going to get something photocopied. Really, what he was doing was scanning the building for something that might be a suitable weapon to attack Dante with.

But now, Vergil had found himself new prey.

He wasn't going to kill her yet. No, Vergil had to prepare a suitable way to go about doing this. He was going to make a booby trap, perhaps…

Yes, that was far more pleasing that simply tracking her down and stabbing her. He would make her death her own fault (well, it would be her fault if she walked into a trap, not his. All he did was put the trap there).

So a trap it was then, Vergil swore upon Sparda that he would do this (lightning flashes outside).

* * *

"I thought you were getting something photocopied," Dante stated suspiciously as Vergil returned into his seat empty-handed.

"Yeah, but…" Vergil paused for thought "…your face!"

_Ah, yes,_ he thought, _that ought to do it_.

Dante inhaled sharply, stung by the sly insult. He should have seen that coming…

Unable to provide a suitable comeback, Dante set back to his work.

It was really all very boring work he had to do. He was given several folders of handwritten script that he had to type into his word processor on the computer, then save and go and get it copied multiple times. He would then place it in a pile, then pick up some more manuscripts from a different pile.

There was an electronic tantrum from Dante's century-old printer as it shakily excreted 3 pages of typing.

Dante retrieved the pages, then reached over to the stapler.

"-AARGH! _Sweet Jesus_!"

Dante hastily withdrew his hand, but not before the stapler left it's mark; there was a staple imbedded onto Dante's right forefinger.

Panting, he raised an eyebrow at the stapler, which scurried back over to Vergil. Blood was evident in it's 'teeth'. Dante gave Vergil an accusatory glare. Vergil had a hand to his mouth to prevent Dante from seeing his laughter, but disregarded Dante's glare and pretended nothing out-of-the ordinary had happened whatsoever as he continued typing.

Cursing, Dante creased the corner of the pages to keep them together.

His eyes reached the pen on his desk. He considered thrusting it into the back of Vergil's neck, but then scolded himself. He would not lower himself to Vergil's level. Plus, he knew Vergil was manipulating him. He wanted a fight.

Dante would not give it to him. Although, Dante knew he was up to something. Vergil had gone missing for quite a while when he announced he was getting something photo-copied.

Yes, he _must_ be up to something. And Dante swore upon Sparda that he would figure out what it was (lightning flashes outside).

Anyway, for the time being, Dante had to get more work. He had just finished typing his previous manuscript.

He departed his cubicle and headed for the outbox. The lower-down workers did not have their own in their cubicles, but had an amalgamated outbox where they would all place their finished work. It was somebody else's job to sort out the finished work.

The outbox was situated just by the coffee maker.

When Dante was nearly there, he saw Trish and some other guy walking along together towards the room. Trish seemed delighted with herself, and had eyes for nothing but this guy.

Dante chuckled to himself as he continued on behind them. Then, he saw something that made him drop his paperwork.

On the door to the coffee-maker room, there was a thin, barely detectable string. Dante's eyes followed the string until they came to a mechanism involving a large blade.

His head then darted downwards when he saw Trish's hand clasp on the doorknob and twist it.

Quick as a flash, Dante dived, pushing her to the ground face-first.

Trish shrieked, and the man was momentarily stunned as he watched.

The large blade swung down like a pendulum, and through the air were Trish was seconds beforehand. It then continued it's trajectory, and became embedded in the ceiling.

Trish pushed Dante off her and gave him a glare that could have given a heart attack to a………something that doesn't normally get heart attacks.

The man helped her to her feet, and Trish gave him an immaculate smile that lasted until she turned to look at Dante, where the glare returned.

Apparently, neither Trish nor the other guy had noticed the large booby trap.

"_What_ do you think you're doing?" Trish hissed at him.

Dante was speechless for a second, terrified.

Trish took his silence as an answer, and she misinterpreted it.

She looked from John to Dante, then her expression softened.

"Aww, honey…" she said softly to Dante "You had your chance with me. Now it's gone. You're just gonna have to accept that."

Dante's jaw dropped in horror and shock.

"Who's this?" John asked nervously.

"Oh…he's…my housemate" Trish said, looking at Dante with sympathy.

She walked on, and motioned for John to walk with her.

Dante was just getting to his feet, about to rebuke what Trish said, when he noticed something else.

The pair were approaching a carpet on the floor. The carpet sunk a little in the middle, below floor level. It was concealing a hole.

Dante grunted as he leaped and pushed Trish away again. He himself fell through the carpet, but his fingers gripped onto the rim of the pit. As he went through it, the carpet fluttered upwards, then back onto the ground where it had previously been, hiding Dante from view.

"_Dante!"_ Trish shrieked when she hit the ground. Once again, she and John had been too preoccupied to notice anything "What are you-"

She looked around after John once again helped her to her feet.

"Where did he go?"

"Haven't a clue."

Trish looked around. There wasn't a trace of him.

"I think he must have ran off after he pushed you again," John commented as he brushed some dust off of Trish's shoulders.

Trish scowled and put her hands to her hips. Dante was really being ridiculously immature about this whole thing. He had lived with her for a few years at this stage, and done nothing. And now, just as she finds someone she likes, he gets all jealous…

Dante grunted as he struggled to keep his grip on the edge of the pit. He couldn't see how far down this pit went, but he didn't want to find out.

By the time had managed to pull himself up and out of the pit, Trisha and John had gone. Although, he scared the wits out of a timid-looking man who was currently getting something copied.

In other words, the man got such a shock that he stumbled and fell out of the adjacent window. Now, who put _that_ there…

Dante ran out of the room and looked for Trish. He had already gathered that Vergil was trying to kill her, and he had to put a stop to whatever plots he had in store for her.

He ran through countless cubicles, until he ran through double doors that brought him into a corridor covered in doors into offices.

He slowed down to a cautious stalk, feeling that there could be a trap anywhere. Since this was a demonic establishment, he thought, there ought to be certain precautions preventing the likes of him getting here.

The absence of such things only intensified his suspicions, rather than subsiding them.

He was strolling along when he came to a door that made him stop in his tracks.

The Human Resources Manager's office.

He reached for the door handle, preparing himself for a deadly confrontation. Just after he quietly opened the door, someone grabbed him from behind.

Dante was just about to strike whoever it was when he discovered that it was Trish.

"Who do you think you are?" she snarled at him.

"What are you doing?" Dante asked her, answering her question with another question "I'm just about to bring down the demonic ringleader of these offices!"

Trish frowned at him.

"You think - you think that _John_ is a _demon_?"

She looked like she just discovered something.

"_That's_ why you jumped on me - you were trying to attack him!"

She started chuckling quietly to herself.

"Oh, hon, John's not a demon!"

Dante looked abashed.

"You mean to say, that the guy you were with is the Human Resources Manager?" Dante looked to the ground, disappointed.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought…" Dante grumbled, ashamed "I thought that the Human Resources Manager was a demon in charge of sucking the souls of all the workers here…"

Trish really didn't know where to start.

During their silence, they heard speech from inside the office. There was some other man in the office with John, and the two evidently didn't notice the slightly open door, nor the two people talking outside it.

"So…you and that new blonde one, huh?" one voice could be heard.

"Got that right. The one who makes the coffee." John responded.

"There's a worker assigned to making _coffee_? Jeese, they're really going out of their way to make as many jobs as possible…wonder why that is…"

"Yeah, I wonder," John said in a mysterious voice.

Dante exchanged a meaningful glance with Trish.

"So, I suppose that she's not that bright then," the man said.

Trish made a strange indignant noise beside Dante.

"Got that right. Woman's about as sharp as a hammer."

Trish looked infuriated, but said nothing.

"Really? Then I suppose you're not serious with her?"

"Nope. Just biding my time until I get her outta that skirt-"

That was enough for Trish, who bolted the door open with her foot and stormed in, fist clenched. Dante hurried in after her, looking slightly apprehensive.

John's face sank when he saw Trish, but his friend's face lit up and he laughed. Trish glared at the friend first.

"Do you find something _amusing_?" she growled in a dangerously low voice.

Ironically enough, it was the man from the water dispenser with the silly tie.

"Nuh-no," the man stuttered pathetically.

"Good."

And with that, Trish turned to John, who recoiled at her venomous glance.

Rather than saying anything, Trish merely seized John's office phone and started beating him on the head with it.

Dante only stood back and watched in awe, as did John's friend.

At that moment, Vergil walked by the door, his stapler shuffling along at his feet. He sensed something interesting (violent) was going on, and he watched the scene with a look of vague interest on his face, similar to a look someone might have as they regarded a slightly amusing bumper sticker.

After a moment, Trish broke the phone off of John's head, then groped around for something else to pummel him with. Vergil walked up and handed her his stapler, which he gave an affectionate pat before he handed it over.

Trish was just about to mumble a 'thank you' when she realised who it was.

"_You_!" she gasped, jumping back with surprising vigour.

She knocked into John, who was on his office chair, which had wheels on it. He sped backwards, then into the window ledge.

Of course, this being the type of fic it is, he crashed out of the window.

After John fell out of the window, his friend rushed to the shattered window and looked down.

"JOHN!" he screamed.

Vergil, like Dante, severely disliked this man. As did his demonically enchanted stapler, which leaped up to the man and bit him. The man roared and clasped his ass, and the stapler stubbornly remained on, it's plastic jaws clamped firmly down.

The man ran about in a blind panic. Vergil casually walked up to the man. The next time the man was near the window, Vergil stuck his leg out.

The man, still roaring in agony, careered into Vergil's outstretched leg, and he too fell out of the window.

Vergil looked out of the window, actually looking sad.

Had Dante not known better, he would have thought that Vergil was feeling remorse for his needless murder. However, he correctly assumed that Vergil was actually sad that his stapler had died.

* * *

An ambulance driver was having a strange day. First of all, he had rushed to the rescue of a man who had been struck by lightning multiple times in one day.

There was not a cloud to be seen in the sky.

If Dante was present, he would have realised that he would have to stop swearing upon Sparda that he would do things.

If a scientist were present, he would have a hard time figuring out why lightning had materialised out of nowhere, and an even harder time figuring out why it had smote the same man, as if it were following him.

The ambulance driver now had to bring two more bodies to the hospital; two men had fallen out of the building.

One still grasping onto an office chair for dear life, the other with a stapler attached firmly to his buttocks.

* * *

_Joe: Well, I kinda forgot to show the bit where they all get fired, but you can all safely assume that it happened._

_Well, there you go, another chapter._

_Please review, you've no idea how great it is when I get a review to read. Oh, and huge, ridiculously big thanks to anybody who reviewed._

_Now, do it again._

_Pretty please?_

_Ah, screw it, politeness will get me nowhere. Just review the goddamn chapter._

_Ciao._


	13. Accessory to Blunder

_Disclaimer: Nothing new here. I haven't suddenly gained ownership of Devil May Cry since the last chapter, so don't get excited.(So therefore don't be expecting a Devil May Cry game with the name of "Hell's Frontline" anytime soon...)_

_Joe: Right…back again. It's been a while, but you guys know what to expect by now._

_Okay, I realise now that the last chapter wasn't up to scratch by comparison to my other chapters. But hey, there's not an awful lot you can do with an office, cut me some slack. But, then again, as Gromit says, I have to show Dante's ability to screw up a normal job, he can't keep getting bizarre ones, otherwise his ineptitude would be less obvious._

_Also: Shut your trap and be damned pleased that I'm writing anything. Just _joking_. No, really. Any criticism is well received, so long as it's got some grounding. As requested, I'm trying to put some more slap-stick into, as like before. I'm actually glad that somebody was okay with telling what was wrong with my fic. If I'm not told there's no way I can improve, is there? Just tell me and I'll try (Yes, Gromit, I can most certainly take a shower...but I won't)._

_One more point of interest: this _isn't_ Hell's Frontline, I'm perfectly happy with putting DMC4 characters and references in this. In fact, I may have gone and featured characters in here. Just to let you all know._

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 13: **__**Accessory to Blunder**_

"Dante! Long time no see!" Enzo Ferino roared in violent delight as he gave Dante a winding bear-hug.

Yes, Dante's agent was back, and could resume his job in finding Dante demon-slaying missions. Dante could hardly contain his delight; he might finally be able to afford living again.

Yet, Dante could only give a timid smile in response until Enzo released him from his tight clasp. The half-devil then took a seat on the couch by his desk and beckoned for Enzo to join him. Fairly recently, a local branch of the St. Vincent-de-Paul charity discovered the sociological and engineering mystery that was the remains of the Devil May Cry. Helpful hands were offered, and more importantly, so were building supplies.

So it was that Enzo found nothing particularly different with Dante's office than before, and sighed pleasantly after taking a seat on the couch by Dante.

"Where the hell've you been?" Dante asked him in a slightly accusatory tone, stroking his stubbly chin "You went on holidays – what was it – five _years_ ago?"

"Oh, _that_..." Enzo laughed, waving it off distractedly "Nothing big. Got into...some difficulties on holidays."

"Difficulties that stalled you for five years," Dante countered cynically.

"Mhm. Turns out that the Mexican authorities don't take a shining to prostitution – male prostitution, at least." Enzo explained absent-mindedly, surveying Dante's wall of weaponry.

"You decided to become a_ hooker_ while on a two-week vacation?" Dante retorted loudly in disbelief.

"Er...not _exactly_..." Enzo mumbled.

Dante had inadvertently alarmed Trish upstairs, who's footsteps could then be heard heading downstairs to uncover the reason for Dante's outburst. As Trish entered, she shrieked "_Enzo_!" cheerfully.

The subject was dropped.

"How've you been keeping, hun?" she asked, her voice about an octave higher in her female ecstasy, planting a kiss on his cheek before hugging in a similar manner as Enzo had to Dante.

"Just brilliantly," Enzo replied.

Trish didn't notice the sarcasm and offered him tea or coffee. Enzo replied that he didn't (-the correct answer, seeing as there was no tea or coffee. They had a repaired house, but still had no money) and he asked them how things were at the Devil May Cry while he was gone.

Dante and Trish exchanged grim expressions.

"You tell him," Trish ordered.

"Oh?" Enzo remarked with surprise.

"Well..." Dante started, then paused uncertainly "...ahem. Yeah...ahem. You see...things haven't been so good for us lately."

"Really?" Enzo said with concern. Trish placed her hand gently on his shoulder and requested that he wait until Dante was finished.

"Really." Dante confirmed sadly "We haven't had much money coming in...had to see a financial advisor, even. He told us to take up a second job – said that Devil Hunting wasn't "consistent enough a profession". Didn't seem to like the idea of it at all, probably one of those idiots who don't believe in demons. So, that's what we've been doing lately. Keep getting fired and sued, though -"

" - okay, pause there." Enzo interrupted "You've been taking this advice from a man who knows nothing about the job you already have? How could _he_ have known the advantages of quitting devil hunting? There are none for you two, as far as I can see. The industry itself more or less depends on you!"

"What else could we do?" Trish inquired.

"Exactly what the public think you're doing," Enzo answered simply "The paper advert says '_odd-jobs_' as one of your duties. Right beside '_extreme pest exterminator_'," he added with a grin.

"Advert?" Dante stated with a frown.

"The one you've been paying for these years," Enzo explained.

With a hollow laugh, Dante shook his head.

"I haven't been paying for any adverts lately," he told a bemused Enzo.

"No wonder you've been getting no calls!" Enzo exclaimed irritably "And you've been sitting here doing nothing but feeling sorry for yourself this whole time! You're not gonna get any jobs if nobody knows you exist! We're putting that advert back up immediately. You'd be surprised the difference it makes."

* * *

The man knew what he was talking about. He had been running the devil hunting industry throughout the city before his...break.

His advice did not disappoint, and shortly after his return visit to the Devil May Cry and the setting up of an advertisement in the local paper, they received a call, as he said they would. It was from a motel experiencing staff shortages. Quite frankly, they all were quitting, refusing point blank to do their duties. They didn't mention exactly why on the phone.

Dante stared at the _Foxhole "cheap 'n eazy" Motel _with a grimace from the outside. It was the clichè Motel – one reception, and a terrace of rooms along a veranda.

However, this was not a new sight to him. The Foxhole Motel was notorious among the city's filth as a place to lay low or do business. The proprietor was well aware of it – hence the title. He was an elderly man who decided against retirement, and if the police or other authorities challenged him about the title "Foxhole", he gave a (practiced) indignant retort that it was reference to the years of his life spent serving the country in Vietnam and North Korea. The police officer in question would drop the matter – veterans were not to be pissed off, a social taboo; they would make no friends shutting down an old ex-soldiers Motel.

And so it stood, albeit barely.

Many windows were shattered and lay in jagged fragments along the veranda. There were splotches of congealed blood where people once stood on the glass or where people had attacked others with it. Nobody had cleaned it up.

Dante strode casually into the reception, where the flabby old man himself was seated behind a desk reading a magazine featuring a picture of a scantily dressed woman on the cover.

The room itself looked almost as old as he was. It was composed entirely of wood; a shack of some description. The paint was peeling off the wall in sizable patches, cobwebs adorned every corner, and an old-fashioned phone was placed on the table. There was also a large oil central heating tank situated in one corner.

Dante cleared his throat. The man looked up from his magazine and stood up, seeming unperturbed that he had been caught reading such a magazine. Maybe he was too old to be embarrassed.

"You're the handy man, then?" the man wheezed.

Dante sniffed. The man had an overpowering smell of stale tobacco about him, and the front of his overfilled tank top bore the scars of countless meals – all of which, it seemed, consisted of either baked beans, or brains.

"Yeah, that'd be me," the devil hunter replied, suddenly getting a feeling of power he had not felt in a long time. _He_ was called by the man to do a job, as opposed to being employed. He could be as impolite and demanding as he pleased.

The old man did not seem put off by Dante's appearance in the slightest bit. Then again, being the proprietor of such a Motel, he was accustomed to strange people, or even just had learned not to show surprise or ask questions.

"The name's Bill," he said, extending a hairy arm, then retracted it before Dante could shake it "...er – no it's not. Begins with a 'b' in any case...Brendan? Bryan?...Bob? _Bob_? Is _that_ my name?"

He looked at Dante uncertainly, as though requiring Dante to confirm. Dante merely shrugged.

"Jus' call me Mr. B, then," said the man "S'pose my name's not important. Anyways – you're wonderin' why in the sam hill I called you in, eh?"

Dante remained silent.

"Well, y'see, I 'aint got anymore staff. Maids all quit. Said something about refusing to clean up bodily contents, or sumthin' like that. Too much brains on the wall, or spleens..."

The man zoned out, lost in his own world. Dante cleared his throat but Mr. B was too far out. His eyes uncrossed, and his mouth sagged open. Strangely enough, something crossed the man's mind that made him lick his lips, and Dante could only hope it wasn't the thought of brains or spleens splattered across a wall.

The man's eyes focused again, returning to earth, but his mouth remained open with his tongue lolling out. Mr. B shook his head vigorously, his tongue flapping wildly about. Mr. B reached for the magazine on the desk, rolled it up, then proceeded to beat himself about the head with it until he regained control of the muscles in his jaw.

"...right, anyways!" he finally resumed his original track of thought "I was thinking about a bit of a renovation! Spruce this place up a bit, make it flashier. Might make the money flow in, then I can get some staff back. I called some interior design company, but when they came and saw the place, they _refused_ to do anything. Then I saw your advert, and it said 'fearless', so I figured that if anybody would, it'd be you..."

Dante put his hand to his chin, putting on a show of contemplation – placing him in a position of power, showing that he could refuse if he wanted.

"Okay, then...but it's gonna cost you," Dante stated vaguely "A place like this won't be easy to fix up. Plus, the materials will come up on the bill."

"Sure, sure, whatever," Mr. B replied with a slight smile, delighted that Dante would actually do it "You can start whenever you're ready."

They shook hands. Dante wiped his against his coat when Mr. B looked away.

Dante told Mr. B that he'd start right away, then set off to look at the state of the rooms.

The Motel had no current occupants. If the scum of the city did not even wish to lodge here, Dante could see the man's dire need to renovate. What made it even more obvious was the actual state of the rooms.

The first room did indeed have some sort of meaty substance splattered against the wall. To Dante it didn't exactly look like brains, or indeed spleen, but rather; that some person got a blender of sorts, then inserted into it some fungus, orange juice, a houseplant, some spaghetti and a cat, then attempted to do the renovating themselves with the mixture.

The rest of the room was pristinely clean, funnily enough.

When Dante stepped into the second room, it was as if he collided with a train composed entirely of smell. Flies were _everywhere_, but the room appeared reasonably clean. The bed was made, and the floor was scrubbed, yet the smell remained. Upon opening the wardrobe, Dante uncovered a long-dead human body accompanied by an open bottle of pepsi.

Half an hour after that was spent informing the police about the body, answering questions about the body, describing how he found it, swearing upon his mother's grave a second time that he did not kill the man, then insisting that he would have no motive or desire to do such a thing, then signing some forms, then irritably swearing again that he had nothing to do with the man's death.

Then Dante resumed inspecting the place, and had to chase a goat out of the third room.

Room four was mercifully faultless, save for the paint starting to peel from the walls.

Room five actually _had_ some brains and spleen. Dante could tell, because there was a sticky note affixed to the mess with the message; "_(brains and spleen)_".

That was enough for Dante for the time being. He would start off with these rooms. But firstly, he needed to call Trish, the only person he could think of who might actually have some skill with interior design (bar Vergil).

Dante felt safe in doing so, because, for the first time in many years, he himself was not hired to perform a job; Devil May Cry was hired, and at the end of the day the payment would go towards Devil May Cry. Whether or not Dante did all the work was irrelevant.

Trish arrived shortly by taxi. She departed in even shorter a time by the same taxi (Dante figured it was the brains).

The devil hunter was not surprised. He was pushing his luck just by calling Trish up. He could not honestly expect Trish to clean up a mess of those proportions – the damn woman even freaks out when pizza cheese gets on the floor.

Even so, he still needed help. But, he could not figure who he could rely on. Lady, even though more macho and brave than Trish, possibly as a result had less aptitude with interior design (she also slightly scared Dante, although he would never admit it). Enzo was busy setting back up the demon-hunting system in the city. Who else was there?

Even if there were others, who could Dante, without remorse or regret, put through the hell of clearing up this place...

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Nero said as he scrubbed off the horrible mixture from the wall of room no. 1 "I get half the payment, right?"

"No talking." Dante ordered sharply, then resumed reading his magazine while lying on the bed.

"Hey," Nero responded with badly contained annoyance, turning round to glare at Dante "Don't talk to me like that. I came all the way over here to do this, didn't I?"

"Just be pleased I'm not making you lick it off," Dante told him, unusual pleased with himself.

Nero grumbled to himself, then said;

"But I _do_ get half the payment, right?"

Dante didn't answer. Nero naively assumed that he would get paid and continued working.

Mr. B stepped hurriedly into the room from outside; it was raining heavily, drops could be seen falling from the shabby ceiling.

"How's progress?" he asked, shaking slightly.

"Just fine," Dante answered "We're just clearing up this..._stuff_ before renovating."

"Aha." Mr. B eyed Nero curiously before remarking;

"Is it uniform to have white hair?"

Nero turned round to exchange a glance with Dante, who lowered his magazine to inspect Nero.

"No..." Dante said slowly with a frown "...the kid just can't develop his own style. He has to adopt mine."

"That's not true!" Nero retorted defensively "My hair's always been white!"

"Your eyebrows are black," Dante pointed out reasonably.

"Well your face is ugly!" Nero shouted, admittedly less reasonably.

His face red, he quickly spun round to continue working.

The other two raised their eyebrows at each other, then both choosing to disregard what just happened.

"So, what are you thinking of doing then?" Mr. B inquired.

"Er..." Dante froze. He actually hadn't thought of that. Once the cleaning was done he would call Trish again. But for the time being he had to at least act professional and pretend he knew what he was doing "...well, first of all he's gonna – _we're_ gonna repaint all of the rooms, and then..."

"What paint?" Mr. B pursued with interest.

Dante sat up and stroked his stubble.

"The paint that I'm just going out to get, _that_ paint. Any preference of colour?"

Mr. B shook his head. "Whatever you feel is best. It's all up to you."

Dante got to his feet and checked his watch.

"Sure. I'll be back in about half an hour or so. And kid -" he turned to Nero " -be sure to finish clearing up. If you finish with this, move on. Don't rely on me to tell you what to do."

With a mock salute, Dante departed, running as he exited to seek refuge from the rain for him to hail a taxi, or hop on a bus if there was a stop outside.

Mr. B hung around to inspect Nero's progress with mild interest for a while, then got bored and told Nero to keep it up before leaving as well.

_10 minutes later, outside:_

A man in a gothic blue hood inspected the Motel with vague curiosity from the cover of darkness; the sun was beginning to set. He was in need of a cheap, secure place to stay, safe from the public eye.

As the rain subsided, the man removed his hood to reveal a head of spiked white hair.

Yes, Vergil Sparda was experiencing financial difficulties, and required the services of the cheapest Motel available. He had received no money since that incident a few weeks ago where he jumped a priest in demon forming, proclaiming himself an angel, and that it was God's wish for the priest to donate money. Being a priest, he wasn't exactly comparable a swiss banker, but he had enough to get Vergil by, for a short while at least.

Vergil strolled nonchalantly to the reception, where he encountered an old man behind a desk admiring naked ladies in a magazine. Vergil tried to hide his contempt.

"I require a room," he spoke quietly.

The man looked at Vergil with interest, wondering whether white hair was a new trend the youngsters were getting into.

"I'm sorry, but we're undergoing renovations," Mr. B told him.

Vergil promptly slammed a wad of cash on the desk.

"Although, room number four should be fine," Mr. B added, snatching the money greedily, then reaching back to retrieve the keys for Vergil, then flinging them at him. Vergil caught them in one hand, nodded his thanks, then headed for his room.

As he proceeded along the veranda, Vergil discovered the open the door room number one, and halted immediately. He sensed something. He knew what it was. And Jesus, did it piss him off.

(Yes. It did.)

He stepped inside quietly, analysing the back of the white-haired youth wiping the bloodied wall clean. But, Vergil could feel something more to him. Something that belonged to him. But, it was somehow concentrated into the young man's arm.

Nero, sensing that somebody was watching him, turned slowly around to discover Vergil with his arms crossed.

There was silence for about a minute.

"_Dante?_" Nero stated incredulously.

Vergil shook his head slowly, then started approaching Nero.

Nero, being sensible enough to detect that something was amiss, pulled up his sleeve and attempted to sock Vergil in the face with his Devil Bringer.

Just when Nero thought his arm collided with Vergil's jaw, he gasped as he realised that Vergil had caught it in his own hand, and was inspecting it with a raised eyebrow.

"What the hell is your problem?" Nero asked Vergil nervously "And who _are_ you?"

Vergil didn't answer, and sniffed Nero's devil bringer. He recoiled instantly, spluttering.

Nero took this chance to seize his arm back.

"Okay, answer my question! Who're _you_?"

"Who are _you_?" Vergil asked in response.

"Me?! Nero. Now, what about you?"

"_Nero_?" Vergil repeated contemptuously "_Nero_? _Black_? Okay, that has to be the worst name I have ever heard, and my name's Vergil. Okay, I'm sometimes known as Nero, but only as Nero Angelo – and _that_ at least makes _sense_ together."

Nero frowned at Vergil, starting to slowly retreat from him. He didn't know who Vergil was, but he certainly knew who Nero Angelo was – the demon the Order of the Sword used to bake their home-made demons.

"Anyway, to the point," Vergil said, stepping towards Nero again, backing him into the wall "Care to explain _why_ you have my sword?"

"What are you talking about? I'm unarmed." Nero replied with confusion.

Vergil pinned Nero up against the wall by his neck.

"Don't play dumb. Give it to me." he hissed dangerously.

"Knock knock," Dante declared as he entered, holding several cans of paint.

He froze upon seeing Vergil, accidentally dropping the paint.

"Okay, explain." Vergil demanded, nodding his head towards a breathless Nero, who was gesturing feebly towards his throat with his hands.

"Oh, him?" Dante actually managed a laugh "That's Nero."

"Yes, that much I got from him. Why has he my sword?"

"The sword? I felt that he could hold onto it for the time be-"

"_You_ felt? It's _my_ sword and -"

"_Air_..." Nero croaked.

"Don't interrupt," snapped Dante.

"Yes, well, you were unavailable to contact at the time," he explained sarcastically to Vergil "So I used my own judgement."

"Badly!You gave my sword – _Yamato_ – to this, this, this – _child_! He's probably gotten it all sticky!"

"Well, what are you yelling at me for? Just take it back!"

Vergil relinquished his grasp on Nero, who crashed audibly to the floor, gasping for breath and coughing pitifully.

"Okay, then, _Nero_," Vergil announced "Cough up."

After regaining his breath, Nero stood up, and, shivering, looked from son of Sparda to son of Sparda, both of whom had their arms crossed and were looking at him expectantly.

Making a quick decision, Nero bolted out, successfully managing to evade the twins who did not suspect his fleeing. He looked back for a moment to laugh – then promptly tripped over the goat who had returned.

Nero gave a small roar of irritation, clasping his sore knee, when he looked up to see Dante and Vergil on either side of him.

Dante fired a warning shot from Ebony.

"Now, kid. Give it to him."

Nero remained silent, staring at each of them in turn, silently beseeching them to let him keep it.

He was rescued, funnily enough, by Mr. B having a violent Vietnam flashback. He had been zoned out while this was happening, and it's likely that Dante's warning shot had clicked something out of place in his already unstable mind.

The actual repercussions of this was that he bounded out of the reception, brandishing an old M16 assault-rifle, letting loose a hail of bullets, the recoil overpowering him resulting in him firing anywhere and everywhere. That meant that nobody was in any immediate danger, but it was safer they regarded him as a threat.

Now, three things entered the trios minds.

Firstly, the likelihood of this ever happening.

Secondly, and probably more importantly, how they ever let him retire from the army with his service rifle still in his possession.

Thirdly: S_hit_.

The three dove for cover into room one, Dante slamming the door behind them, then backing up against it to barricade it.

"What the _hell_?" Nero exclaimed.

"Oh, _well said, _Nero," Vergil remarked with a small grin.

"Shut up."

There was a small pause.

Vergil smacked him.

"Any suggestions as to what we do now?" Dante asked as Nero rubbed his cheek.

"We could take him easy," Nero said confidently.

Vergil smacked him again.

"It's not _our_ safety that's the issue," Vergil told him, then shook his head towards Dante, who was evidently formulating a plan; a smile widening across his face.

"But, since you're so eager for action," Dante said with a meaningful smirk "I'm sure you can act as decoy."

"Decoy?" Nero repeated.

"Decoy." confirmed Dante "You run out, he opens fire, then me and Vergil here restrain him while he's distracted"

"I like it." Vergil stated.

"Well, I'm not doing it," Nero said simply.

"Wrong answer," Dante said, gripping Nero by the scruff of the neck, lifting him up, opening the door, then inviting Vergil to give him a parting kick, which Vergil performed with aplomb.

Nero landed on his ass outside, and Mr. B, who had been firing wildly at nothing in particular, noticed Nero and concentrated fire on this new target.

Nero, needless to say, ran like hell.

Dante leaned in the doorway with a self-satisfied grin.

"You aren't going to go out and stop him?" Vergil queried.

"Nah," Dante responded with a small chuckle "Let's just wait and see what happens."

Vergil shared his grin, and stepped out to get a better look.

Nero was leaping behind what cover he encountered – a tree here, a car there, and then Mr. B would fire continuously, unperturbed that his bullets were having no effect.

It stands to reason that if the military overlooked the fact that Mr. B left with his M16, then they would also be indifferent to the fact that he brought home a ridiculous amount of ammunition.

Whenever Mr. B reloaded, Nero would run out of cover and head somewhere else.

Eventually, Nero, stupidly enough, ran into the reception. The largest piece of cover available there was of course the central heater. Another stupid decision.

Mr. B naturally followed him in and opened fire relentlessly.

Nero was safe enough behind the boiler, but there was now no way he could escape unscathed. He only hoped that Dante and Vergil would hurry up.

After a few minutes good firing, the consistant spray of bullets pelting into the boiler caused it to burst open, unloading it's contents. Being an old-fashioned boiler, there was a large amount of oil contained within it.

Unfazed, Mr. B did not cease fire, firing without any second thought – if he was capable of thought at that moment.

As luck would have it, the recoil caused him to shoot the light bulb in the ceiling, showering the room with sparks.

You don't need telling what happened next, but for the benefit of the slower readers I'll explain: Sparks hit wooden floor; wooden floor slowly catch fire; fire reach oil; big boom.

Nero, luckily having two bars of health, was relatively okay. But, Mr. B was far from it.

"_NERO_!" Dante bellowed as he slowly approached the wreck of the reception "WHAT DID YOU _DO_?"

* * *

"_You blew the motel up_?!"Trish shrieked at Dante, who was lying on the couch reading his magazine.

"No! Of course not!" Dante answered, looking at Trish as though she were an idiot "_Nero_ did."

"Oh," said Trish, calming down "...so what happened to him?"

"Well, it's kinda strange..."

"How so?"

"You see, it turns out that the cops never really liked the place anyway, and were actually kind of relieved that it was finally gone. And when the kid contested that the man was trying to kill him, they just took his word for it so they could close the matter as quickly as possible."

"That's hardly just."

"Tell me about it," Dante sighed "If it were me, you know how it would have gone."

"Lawsuit?"

"Duh."

"They must have gone easy on him because he's pretty much just a kid."

"Maybe they should have sent him to Juvenile Hall," Trish joked.

Dante gave out a bark-like laugh.

"I'd have loved to see that. Still, some good came out of today."

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions..." Trish mumbled in response. Dante ignored her as Vergil stepped in from downstairs, dripping wet and wearing a towel (sorry girls).

"Shower's broken. Fix it."

Dante and Trish exchanged glances.

"Well, don't look at me," Dante stated evasively "I'm not the one who spent all day on my ass."

With a burdened sigh, Trish rose and headed for the door upstairs. She paused as the phone rang. She spun round on the spot, hardly believing her ears. Two in one day?

Dante looked at the phone as he might a bomb, then he slowly approached it and gingerly picked it up and answered it.

"Devil May Cry?"

"_Jackpot_" the person on the other end said cryptically.

Dante could hardly contain himself, and he put the phone to his shoulder as the other two awaited an explanation

"It's a caller with the password!"

Trish gave a scream of delight and hugged Vergil, who hadn't a clue what was going on.

Dante listened to the caller, then informed him that they were on their way.

He threw the phone onto the receiver in that spinning way he was notorious for, then reached for Ebony and Ivory, then slung Rebellion onto his back.

"I freaking love you, Enzo," he announced as Trish gripped a sword from the wall.

She headed for the door, but was blocked by Dante's outstretched arm.

"Where do you think _you're_ going?" he asked her, fluttering his eyelashes to indicate innocence "You've got a shower to fix."

Before Trish could react, Dante kicked open the door and raced out laughing, no longer caring about the expense of a new door.

Devil May Cry was back in business.

_**End**_

* * *

_Joe: You read correct; end._

_I'm sorry to say it, guys, but that's it._

_I couldn't just keep leaving it the way I was. A story needs an ending at some point._

_And, no, well spotted, I don't like Nero._

_I'd just like to say thanks for all those who reviewed, and especially to those who gave in suggestions. I apologise wholeheartedly to those who's ideas I never got round to carrying out, really and truly._

_That's it, ladies and gentlemen; you've been a great audience. ;)_

_Ciao._


End file.
